: 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


J 


B.UAURIATCOJ 
d  SouHT-Bosto^- 


MY   LITERARY   LIFE 


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Copyright,  1904,  by 
D.   APPLETON   AND  COMPANY 


PRINTED   AT  THE   APPLETON    PRESS 
NEW  YORK,  U.  S.  A. 


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CONTENTS 


I, 

II, 

III. 

IV, 
V. 

VI, 

VII, 

VIII, 

IX, 
X, 

uT 

XI, 

XII, 

XIII, 

o 

XIV.- 
XV, 

o 

XVI.- 

XVII, 

XVIII, 

XIX, 

-My  early  literary  pursuits 

-I  go  to  Paris 

-My  further  life  in  Paris 

-My  contact  with  politics 

-I  publish  my  book 

-i  make  a  valuable  friend 

-With  the  scientists  . 

-More  friends 

-Other  drawing-rooms  and  Italian  liberty 

-i  make  more  friends — and  enemies. 

-Literary  acquaintances,  and  musical     . 

-Wagner,  Berlioz,  and  Edmond  Adam 

-A  crisis  in  my  life    . 

-Politics — art — music  . 

-My  health  fails 

-I  return  to  my  old  friends 

-The  South  and  the  sea  again 

-i  build  a  house  by  the  sea 

-i  tell  of  many  things,  and  found  my  salon 


PARE 

1 

15 

29 

52 

76 

99 

115 

138 

162 

185 

217 

252 

288 

327 

376 

412 

450 

472 

498 


,^9|( 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


MME.   EdMOND  ADAM         .  .  Frontispiece 

From  au  etching  by  H.  E.  Lessore. 

George  Sand 68 

From  an  engraving  by  Nargeot. 

Daniel  Stern  (Mme.  d'Agoult)   .        .        .     100 

From  an  engraving  by  Leopold  Flameng. 

Edmond  About 202 

From  a  painting  by  Paul  Baudry. 

Hector  Berlioz 246 

From  an  engraving  by  Guillermot,  tils. 

Gustave  Flaubert 318 

From  an  etching  by  H.  Toussaint. 

Jules  Simon 378 

From  an  engraving  by  L.  Le  Main. 

Prosper  Merimee 412 

From  a  lithograph  by  de  Deveria. 

Charles  Augustin  Ste.  Beuve    .        .        .    468 

From  an  etching  by  H.  E.  Lessore. 


MY   LITERARY   LIFE 


CHAPTER    I 


MY    EARLY    LITERARY    PURSUITS 


1 


HE  house  in  which  I  was  condemned  to  live 
through  my  unfortunate  marriage  was  a 
most  gloomy  one.  Its  principal  frontage  looked 
as  though  it  were  pushed  back  to  the  end  of  a 
narrow  court-yard  by  a  building  two  stories  higher. 
Behind  the  house  was  an  immense  and  threatening 
wall  that  cast  its  shade  over  our  very  small  garden. 

How  often  I  thought,  while  living  there,  of  my 
father's  small  house,  so  prettily  framed  in  verdure, 
and  of  my  grandmother's  comfortable  and  spacious 
residence. 

I  was  to  pass  three  years  here,  my  husband 
having  agreed  to  put  in  order  the  very  litigious 
affairs  of  an  aunt  who  had  recently  become  a  widow 
and  who  had  left  him  some  of  her  property.  I 
knew  no  one  in  Soissons  but  this  very  small  aunt, 
who  had  lost  a  very  large  husband.     Everything 

[1] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


he  had  left  behind  him  was  in  accordance  with  his 
own  size — horses,  carriages,  furniture,  were  all  co- 
lossal— and  Aunt  Vatrin  remained  crushed  even  by 
the  ghost  of  a  disproportionate  husband. 

Now,  what  could  one  do  in  such  a  house  except 
to  make  dreams?  I  dreamed,  I  read,  I  tried  to 
write.  Fifteen  months  after  my  marriage  I  had 
the  greatest  joy  of  my  life,  when  I  became  a 
mother. 

My  father  and  husband  became  reconciled  when 
my  daughter  was  born.  I  nursed  my  little  Alice, 
who  was,  alas!  very  delicate.  I  worked  with  her 
beside  me  or  else  I  took  her  walks,  in  all  kinds  of 
weather,  in  little  Aunt  Vatrin's  garden.  The  latter 
had  rented  a  portion  of  her  house  and  garden  to 
Monsieur  Riballier,  the  organist  of  the  cathedral, 
and  a  composer  of  talent. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Riballier,  who  had  no 
children,  took  a  great  fancy  to  my  young  daugh- 
ter and  to  me.  He  finished  my  musical  education, 
and  she  amused  my  little  Alice  with  toys  that  were 
constantly  renewed. 

One  day  I  took  Monsieur  Riballier  some  poetry 
I  had  written:  Myosotis.  He  found  it  pretty,  and 
composed  a  charming  air  to  the  words — tying,  as 
it  were,  a  ribbon  of  harmony  around  my  little  bou- 
quet of  Forget-me-nots. 

[2] 


MY  EARLY  LITERARY  PURSUITS 

He  had  it  published  by  Hengel,*  at  Paris.  Really 
at  Paris!  I  was  wild  with  delight.  I  can  still  see 
myself  as  I  sang  it,  holding  the  published  music 
and  poetry  of  Myosotis  in  my  hands  and  feasting 
my  eyes  on  the  published  words,  although  I  knew 
them  by  heart. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Riballier  often  enter- 
tained at  their  house  during  the  summer  the  owners 
of  the  chateaux  in  the  environs  of  Soissons.  He 
was  called  "  the  marvellous  organist,"  and  he  gave 
lessons  to  the  young  sons  and  daughters  of  the 
notable  families  round  about.  They  had  a  recep- 
tion every  week,  at  which  five  or  six  of  his  pupils 
would  sing,  and  play  on  the  organ  and  piano.  One 
day  the  authoress  of  Myosotis  sang  the  song,  ac- 
companied by  the  composer.  It  was  a  great  suc- 
cess, and  they  were  encored  twice. 

Among  those  present  was  Monsieur  de  Courval, 
who  inquired  about  my  "  work,"  and  said  to  me, 
"  that  a  Comtesse  de  Courval  had  also  been  a  wri- 
ter." Ah !  that  "  also,"  how  much  I  was  flattered 
by  it. 

Monsieur  de  Courval  invited  me  and  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Riballier  to  spend  a  day  at  the  Cha- 
teau   de    Courval,    together    with    several    of    his 

*  The  principal  musical  publisher  of  Paris  — Translator's  note. 

[3] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


friends  who  were  present  at  the  Riballiers'  on  that 
occasion.  It  was  at  Courval  that  I  first  heard  the 
legend  of  Blanche  de  Coucy,  about  which  I  wrote 
my  first  work  of  length — about  fifteen  pages.. 

My  father  thought  my  Myosotis  and  my  Blanche 
de  Coucy  rather  good,  but  he  advised  me  not  to 
let  them  turn  my  head,  "  as  they  could  not  pass," 
he  said,  "  as  having  been  inspired  by  the  age  of 
Pericles."  This  jeering  humiliated,  but  did  not 
discourage  me.     On  the  contrary. 

I  took  up  at  that  time  some  serious  reading, 
which  my  father  had  reproached  me  for  neglect- 
ing. For  a  year  I  had  taken  no  interest  in  any- 
thing except  poetry. 

I  have  said  before  *  that  my  husband  was  a  Posi- 
tivist.  I  was  scarcely  married  before  he  began  to 
fall  upon  me  with  his  doctrines.  I  could  not  say 
a  word  without  bringing  upon  myself  some  epithet, 
the  sense  of  which  I  did  not  quite  understand, 
through  ignorance,  but  whose  contempt  I  felt. 

It  is  difficult,  now,  to  imagine  the  infatuation 
that  Auguste  Comte's  partisans  felt  for  him  at  that 
time. 

A  Positivist  held  in  his  hands — and  no  one  was 
allowed  to  question  it — the  past,  the  present,  and 


*  The  Romance  of  my  Childhood  and  Youth. 
[4] 


MY  EARLY  LITERARY  PURSUITS 

the  future.  Science  and  philosophy,  governed  by 
the  Positivist  mind,  bowed  beneath  the  Master's 
ferule,  the  "  one  alone,"  who,  amid  all  the  great 
reformers  of  humanity,  had  understood  "  entire 
universality."  All  that  the  human  mind  thought 
it  possessed,  outside  of  positivism,  must  necessarily 
be  dissolved  in  it:  religion,  knowledge,  social  prob- 
lems, etc.  When  Monsieur  Lamessine  pronounced 
the  word  humanity  you  felt  crushed  beneath  it, 
because  you  were  obliged  to  evoke  at  this  word 
all  that  man  had  ever  been  since  the  first  created 
one,  all  that  he  was  at  the  present  moment,  all 
that  he  would  be  "  world  without  end." 

To  this  he  could  not  make  me  say  "  Amen."  I 
listened,  for  a  time,  to  these  imposing  affirmations, 
but  finally  they  exasperated  me  to  such  a  degree 
that  I  plunged  headlong  into  the  reading  of  Au- 
guste  Comte's  very  ponderous  and  very  numerous 
volumes. 

Oh,  what  wearisome  length  of  phrases,  how 
many  oft-repeated  adverbs  weighed  them  down! 
How  much  easier  to  digest  was  Proudhon,  whose 
works  my  father  had  made  me  read,  and  how  much 
less  overwhelming  were  the  pamphleteer's  demoli- 
tions than  Auguste  Comte's  massive  constructions. 

One  can  fancy  what  manner  of  distraction  such 
daily   reading  was    for  a   young  woman.      I   was 

[5] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


obliged  to  prove  that  I  understood  the  "  one  Mas- 
ter." I  was  forced  to  discuss  the  double  tendencies 
of  egotism  and  self-interest,  or  those  of  altruists 
or  unselfish  persons,  on  the  historical  developments 
of  these  inclinations,  the  groundwork  of  humanity 
and  the  future  basis  of  true  justice,  on  the  great 
classification  of  humanitarian  periods,  on  the  con- 
formation between  Positivist  philosophy  and  Re- 
publican ideas. 

Ah,  no,  no!  Being  a  sincere  Republican,  I  pro- 
tested strongly  against  this  last  theory,  declaring 
with  proofs  in  hand,  that  the  political  philosophy 
of  Comtism  was  made  up  of  authoritative  ideas, 
and  that  it  barred  all  the  roads  through  which 
Democracy  could  pass. 

Positivism  had  already  established  this  singular 
rule  in  the  minds  of  its  initiated:  that  they  should 
not  admit  the  discussion  of  any  of  its  texts,  but 
that  by  the  example  of  their  lives,  guided  by  these 
texts,  they  might  accommodate  themselves,  how- 
ever, to  all  manner  of  circumstances. 

On  the  one  hand,  my  husband  was  enthusiastic 
in  speaking  of  Clothilde  de  Vaux,  and  put  on  airs 
of  mystical  compunction,  while  on  the  other  hand, 
he  denied  the  power  of  love  and  of  idealism. 

"The  Master,"  converted  by  Clothilde,  declared 
that   life    should   be   led   by    feeling,   the   disciple 

[6] 


MY  EARLY  LITERARY  PURSUITS 

affirmed  "  that  love  was  an  emotion  that  tended 
to  disappear."  But  it  should  not  be  adduced  from 
this  that  the  "  Master  "  and  disciple  were  not  in 
perfect  accord. 

I  cannot  describe  with  what  disdain  Monsieur 
Lamessine  treated  me,  nor  how  many  accusations 
of  childishness  he  showered  upon  me  when  I  spoke 
of  my  Homeric  gods. 

"You  are  belated,  in  the  metaphysical  phase,  in 
the  search  for  the  absolute — that  is  to  say,  in  ab- 
surd '  primal  and  final  causes,'  "  my  husband  said 
to  me. 

I  took  Positivism  in  utter  abhorrence  at  that 
time.  "  The  Humanitarian  doctrine,"  Monsieur 
Lamessine  went  on  preaching,  "  is  tangible.  We 
know  what  it  is,  from  whence  it  comes,  and  whither 
it  is  going.  Immanent  justice  is  a  different  thing 
from  the  partial,  capricious  justice  of  a  Jehovah, 
a  Jupiter,  or  an  incomprehensible  Threefold  God; 
yes,  quite  a  different  thing  from  hypothetical  eter- 
nal justice!  To  believe  that  the  future  will  live 
from  us,  as  we  live  from  the  past,  to  know  that 
our  bodies  will  go  to  fecundate  Nature,  as  she  has 
fecundated  us,  that  is  something  certain,  positive." 

"Phew !  all  that  is  very  illusive,"  I  replied. 
"  You  drown  yourself,  your  thoughts,  your  con- 
science, your  morality,  your  responsibilities,  in  the 

[7] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


'  universal  '  because  you  are  not  upheld  or  bound 
by  anything.  You  Positivists  are  fluctuating,  you 
are  infirm  persons  with  weak  eyelids,  who  only  half 
raise  them,  and  who  only  see  what  is  beneath  and 
around  you,  without  ever  looking  upward.  The 
humanity  of  your  Auguste  Comte  is  a  half-blind 
humanity.  It  only  conceives  what  it  accepts.  It 
legitimizes  the  law  of  the  strongest,  of  the  most 
audacious,  even  of  the  most  contemptible.  To 
arrest  the  search  for  the  unknown,  for  what  is  in- 
comprehensible, and  for  all  truths  except  those  we 
can  spell  out ;  to  accept  that  everything  ends,  where 
interrogation  becomes  mysterious — ah!  no;  I  will 
never  accept  that." 

"  You  intoxicate  yourself  with  words  whose  sense 
you  do  not  understand,"  Monsieur  Lamessine  said 
to  me  in  a  fit  of  anger.  "All  your  ideas  about 
research,  the  unknown,  are  very  well  known  and 
already  classed  in  their  ancestral  rank.  The  idea 
that  morality  is  received  from  Heaven,  that  love 
of  country  comes  from  a  circumscribed  corner  of 
the  earth,  ah !  that  is  thoroughly  false.  The  fool- 
ish absurdities  about  religion  and  country  have 
been  discarded,  and  rejected  into  the  past,  and  the 
clear  minds  of  Positivists  are  forever  delivered  from 
them." 

I  should  have  become  idiotic  had  I  continued  to 

[8] 


MY  EARLY  LITERARY  PURSUITS 

read  Auguste  Comte's  works  exclusively,  and  to 
discuss  them.  Happily,  I  had  an  adviser,  a  very 
intelligent  man,  the  librarian  of  the  town  library, 
with  whom  I  had  become  on  friendly  terms,  and 
who  guided  my  studies  a  little. 

Having  found  Auguste  Comte's  works  in  our 
library,  I  did  not  speak  to  him  about  them;  but 
one  day,  being  specially  bored  by  my  husband's 
oft-repeated  conversation  on  this  theme,  I  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  "  great  Master  "  of  Positiv- 
ism. 

"  Oh !  as  to  that  man,"  he  said,  "  I  have  an  espe- 
cial aversion  to  him.  He  ought  to  be  shut  up  in 
a  mad-house.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  really 
crazy  from  1826  to  1828.  Saint-Simonism  had 
already  turned  his  brain,  and  he  delivered  popular 
lectures  on  astronomy  that  completely  upset  it. 
The  calculation  of  probabilities  has  always  been 
beyond  his  power.  His  religion  of  Humanity  has 
but  one  object :  to  make  himself  a  pope.  His  letters 
are  written  like  pontifical  briefs.  In  the  Rue  Mon- 
sieur-le-Prince,  where  he  resides,  he  has  an  altar 
in  his  apartment,  and  he  lives  from  it.  He  sup- 
ports himself  by  the  religion  he  has  invented.  It 
is  really  amusing  to  see  a  man  who  has  disowned 
all  religions,  ancient  and  modern,  take  one  he  has 
founded  out  of  his  pocket  at  the  proper  moment, 

[9] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


for  his  own  personal  benefit.  And  then,  besides, 
this  materialist  and  positivist  has  become  mystical, 
and  is  platonically  in  love  with  Clothilde  de  Vaux. 
He  is  simply  a  fraud." 

Some  exceedingly  bitter  discussions  between  my 
husband  and  myself  followed  my  librarian's  revela- 
tions. 

When  the  house  became  no  longer  bearable,  by 
reason  of  these  disputes,  I  would  go  to  pass  a  few 
days  with  my  beloved  aunts,  Chivres  being  only  a 
few  leagues  from  Soissons.  My  daughter  improved 
in  health  and  took  much  pleasure  there,  on  ac- 
count of  the  donkey,  Rousset,  the  hens  and  rabbits. 

Aunt  Sophie  always  felt  the  greatest  interest  in 
all  that  occupied  my  mind.  I  spoke  to  her  of 
Auguste  Comte,  of  my  conjugal  quarrels  apropos 
of  Positivism.  She  advised  me  not  to  reply  by  a 
single  word  to  my  husband  on  this  subject.  I  fol- 
lowed her  advice,  and  soon  no  more  great  discus- 
sions about  Auguste  Comte  took  place,  except  be- 
tween Monsieur  Lamessine  and  my  father  when 
they  met.  Both  being  very  violent,  they  waged 
veritable  battles  against  each  other. 

Every  family,  at  this  time,  had  some  "  system  " 
to  which  it  was  devoted.  My  father,  who  was  a 
phalansterian,  desired  the  happiness  of  the  major- 
ity.    My  husband,  a  Comtist,  declared  that  a  select 

[10] 


MY  EARLY  LITERARY  PURSUITS 

few  alone  should  govern  the  masses,  with  this  prin- 
ciple :  "  Regulate  the  present  by  balancing  the  past 
against  the  future."  On  the  theory,  "  No  God, 
no  King,"  they  were  both  agreed ;  but  when  my 
husband  spoke  of  certain  ideas  of  Auguste  Comte's, 
which  he  had  designated  under  the  name  of  "  revo- 
lutionary maladies,"  they  had  endless  disputes. 

My  father  admired  Littre,  who  refused  to  bow 
down  to  the  "  pontiff,"  and  he  made  many  jokes 
about  Auguste  Comte's  love-affairs.  Firstly,  about 
his  matrimonial  misfortunes,  and  his  choice  of  an 
extremely  light  woman  as  wife,  and  then  on  the 
passion  of  the  old  "  Hindu  priest "  for  the  blond 
and  langourous  Clothilde  de  Vaux. 

My  husband  replied,  "that  what  Auguste  Comte 
felt  for  Clothilde  was  not  passion,  but  the  Positivist 
sympathy  for  a  superior  mind."  And  he  related 
endless  stories  about  the  Master's  chastity. 

"  Involuntary  chastity,"  replied  my  father, 
"  idealism  suffered  with  regret,  a  sorrowful  conti- 
nency,  with  which  he  often  bitterly  reproached  his 
lady-love,  but  which  was  imposed  on  him  by  this 
clever  and  romantic  woman,  who  had  had  a  legend 
invented  about  herself  by  an  old  corrupt  man." 

My  father  discovered  a  book  which  he  brought 
to  me,  and  which,  he  said,  would  wash  my  mind 
clean  of  all  the  too  positive  insanities  of  Comtism. 
2  [11] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


It  was  Leconte  de  Lisle's  Poemes  Antiques.  We 
could  not  praise  the  work  enough,  whose  elevated 
inspiration  was  derived  from  pure  Homeric 
sources. 

I  wished  Aunt  Sophie  to  admire  them  also,  but 
she  had  read  somewhere  that  this  "  young  author  " 
had  called  Virgil  "  a  Byzantine,"  and  had  written 
"  that  in  their  civilisation  the  Romans  were  not 
superior  to  the  Dacians,"  and  she  refused  to  read 
a  single  page  of  it. 

"  This  gentleman,"  she  said,  "  pretends  that 
there  has  been  no  true  poetry  written  since  that 
of  Sophocles,  until  his  own.  Lamartine,  Victor 
Hugo,  de  Musset,  not  to  speak  of  the  present 
poets,  count  for  nothing,  it  seems,  according  to 
this  conceited  young  man.  Don't  speak  of  him 
to  me,  dear  niece,  don't  speak  of  him !  " 

When,  having  returned  to  Soissons,  I  went  to 
Aunt  Vatrin's  with  my  daughter  and  her  nurse,  I 
passed  through  a  small  street  in  which  the  Revenue 
Office  was  situated,  the  manager  of  which  was  Mon- 
sieur Ratisbonne,  who  was  very  intimate  with  the 
Under  Prefect,  Monsieur  Papillon  de  la  Ferte,  the 
son  of  the  author  of  a  book  on  the  Vie  des  Peintres, 
and  who  had  been  guillotined  in  1794.  The  Under 
Prefect  of  Soissons  said  that  one  should  make 
merry  while  one  had  the  chance,  as  no  one  knew 

[12] 


MY  EARLY  LITERARY  PURSUITS 

what  might  happen,  in  proof  of  which  was  his 
grandfather's  unfortunate  fate. 

These  two  men  alarmed  me  very  much  by  their 
haste  to  rush  to  the  windows  as  I  passed,  and  by 
their  impressive  bows.  People  did  not  flirt  in  the 
provinces  in  those  days,  and  I  would  have  been 
severely  criticised  had  I  merely  smiled  at  these  two 
gay  bachelors,  already  past  their  prime. 

I  became  acquainted  at  that  time  with  two  of  my 
best  and  most  faithful  friends — Monsieur  de  Mar- 
cere,  then  a  very  young  barrister,  who  became  later 
in  life  a  minister  of  state,  and  with  Lieutenant 
Guioth,  who  rose  to  the  rank  of  a  general  and  the 
commander  of  the  12th  Army  Corps.  After  the 
War  of  1870  he  became  the  aide-de-camp  of  the 
Duke  d'Aumale,  and  was  made  officer  of  the  Legion 
of  Honour  at  Metz,  for  a  brilliant  feat  of  arms. 
He  was  born  in  Lorraine,  and  having  always  sus- 
pected Bazaine  of  treachery,  he  was  able  to  en- 
lighten his  commander-in-chief,  the  Duke  d'Au- 
male, at  the  time  of  the  dramatic  court-martial. 
Guioth  wrote  out  all  the  reports,  we  can  imagine 
with  what  sorrow,  for  he  had  lost  by  the  traitor's 
crime  his  province,  his  small  country. 

Many  years  after,  one  day  when  the  Duke  d'Au- 
male was  talking  to  me  of  the  Bazaine  court-mar- 
tial, and  of  Guioth,  whom  the  Prince  called  "  our 

[13] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


friend,"  he  repeated  to  me  the  words  he  had  said 
at  the  time  of  the  court-martial. 

"  Guioth's  conscience  and  mine  are  both  full  of 
indignation,"  and  he  added,  "  because  the  desper- 
ately ambitious  man  whom  we  were  trying  was  per- 
fectly conscious  of  his  acts,  and  of  the  harm  that 
might  result  from  them." 

"  Do  you  believe,  Prince,  that  this  man  realized 
that  the  fate  of  France  was  imperilled  by  what  he 
was  doing?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  preferred  the  most  dastardly,  dis- 
honourable personal  intrigues  to  it." 

But  we  have  wandered  far  from  1855. 


mi 


[14] 


mmffimm^ 


CHAPTER    II 


I   GO    TO    PARIS 


NE  of  my  cousins,  Madame  Fischer,  of  Laon, 
came  to  see  me  as  she  was  passing  through 
Soissons,  and  as  we  were  talking  of  literature,  she 
spoke  indignantly  of  a  book,  whose  author  was  the 
son  of  the  head  editor  of  the  Journal  de  l'Aisne. 

"  This  young  fellow,"  she  said,  "  has  made  our 
city,  Laon,  ridiculous  forever.  It  is  odious  of  him. 
In  our  own  family  we  have  had  several  of  its  mem- 
bers victimized  by  this  Champflcury  in  his  Bour- 
geois de  Molinchard." 

As  soon  as  my  cousin  had  left,  I  ran  to  the 
library  and  found  the  dreadful  book.  As  I  knew 
the  greater  part  of  the  persons  caricatured  in  it, 
I  was  greatly  amused.  It  is  a  chef-d'oeuvre  of  its 
kind. 

The  greatest  public  event  of  that  time,  besides 
the  Crimean  War,  which  we  of  the  opposition  party 
continued  to  blame,  and  whose  slow  action  we  criti- 
cised, attributing  it  to  the  carelessness  in  the  orders 
given,  and  to  the  insufficiency  of  the  English  army, 
the  greatest  event,  as  I  have  said,  was  the  Uni- 
versal Exhibition. 

[15] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


My  husband  advised  me  to  wean  my  daughter, 
to  leave  her  with  my  parents,  and  to  go  and  join 
him  in  Paris,  where  he  proposed  at  first  to  remain 
some  months  before  taking  up  our  final  residence 
there. 

I  was  really  to  know  Paris !  The  thought  alone 
terrified  me.  I  felt  my  fate  was  to  be  decided  there. 
My  grandmother's  spirit  seemed  to  take  possession 
of  me  as  soon  as  Paris  assumed  a  fateful  place  in 
my  life. 

"  Bah !  don't  be  afraid  of  it,"  my  father  said  to 
me.  "  Step  into  it  bravely.  Look  Paris  in  the 
face.  One  of  two  things  will  happen :  either  you 
will  become  somebody,  as  your  unhappy  grand- 
mother hoped  and  desired,  and,  in  that  case,  the 
trials  of  your  unfortunate  marriage  will  not  have 
been  unnecessary,  or  you  will  break  the  chains  of 
your  moral  servitude  and  will  return  to  your  father, 
with  whom  you  will  have,  if  not  a  happy  life,  at 
least  one  freed  from  your  matrimonial  responsibili- 
ties, which  make  me  anxious  for  the  future." 

My  father  only  said  anxious;  but  being  aware 
of  many  things  of  which  I  was  ignorant,  he  was 
already  frightened.  I  knew  this  a  long  time  after- 
ward by  the  zeal  which  Monsieur  Lamessine  evinced 
in  putting  into  practice  one  of  his  favourite  for- 
mulas :  "  We  must  aid  social  corruption,  in  order 

[16] 


I  GO  TO  PARIS 


that  a  new  vegetation  may  spring  all  the  sooner 
from  it." 

Paris !  "  the  height  that  you  must  climb,"  as  my 
grandmother  so  often  repeated  to  me.  "  Paris !  the 
Minotaur,  that  devours  its  victims  without  a  cry 
escaping  from  the  labyrinth,"  as  grandfather  said. 

Paris !  I  was  really  in  Paris,  where  the  Univer- 
sal Exhibition  was  at  its  height.  Twenty  thou- 
sand exhibitors  from  thirty-six  nations  were  gath- 
ered within  a  few  hundred  square  feet  at  the  Palais 
de  l'Industrie,  where  they  displayed  the  wonders  of 
their  productions,  the  riches  of  their  countries,  and 
their  practical  art  under  all  its  forms. 

I  said  over  to  myself  the  figures  that  were  talked 
of,  and  the  impressions  that  overcame  me  when, 
as  a  child,  I  first  saw  the  sea,  could  alone  compare 
with  what  I  felt.  It  would  be  impossible  to  im- 
agine the  bewilderment  that  a  provincial  woman 
experienced  on  coming  to  Paris  for  the  first  time 
at  the  sight  of  all  the  quantities  of  hitherto  un- 
known things  that  rose  before  her  eyes. 

One  of  our  friends,  who  had  been  present  at  the 
opening  of  the  Exhibition,  had  told  me,  on  his 
return,  of  the  overwhelming  sensation  he  had  felt; 
but,  being  a  Republican,  like  my  father,  he  saw 
many  disadvantageous  sides  to  it.      It  would  de- 

[17] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


liver  up  to  ^strangers  the  secrets  of  our  manufac- 
tures and  would  ruin  trade  in  the  provinces,  for  all 
those  who  were  attracted  by  novelties  would  empty 
their  woollen  stockings  to  buy  Parisian  or  foreign 
articles,  and  then  the  grotesque  inauguration  would 
make  other  nations  laugh.  "  Had  not  Plon-Plon 
put  on  the  uniform  of  a  general  of  division  brought 
back  intact  from  the  Crimea?  "  The  smile  with 
which  the  word  intact  was  accentuated  was  sug- 
gestive. Those  who  lived  at  that  time  could  alone 
understand  the  allusions  to  "  bullets "  and  to 
"  fright  "  which  this  word  implied.  "  And  then," 
added  my  friend,  "  the  Emperor's  famous  speech 
to  the  said  Prince,  his  cousin,  which  ended  with 
these  words:  'I  rejoice  to  open  this  Temple  of 
Peace,  which  invites  all  nations  to  concord.'  '  Ah, 
no ! '  said  sensible  persons  like  ourselves,  '  that  is 
carrying  things  rather  too  far,  to  dare  to  speak 
thus  during  this  interminable  Crimean  War,  when 
they  are  killing  Russians  to  please  the  Turks,  and 
are  getting  killed  themselves,  for  the  sole  benefit 
of  English  interests.  To  speak  of  peace  at  this 
time  is  a  manner  of  challenge  thrown  out  to  public 
opinion.  And  the  proof  of  this  is,  that  Napoleon 
III  is  impatient  at  not  being  able  to  proclaim  some 
brilliant  feats  of  war,  for  Alma  and  Inkermann 
already  date  some  time  back.     The  splendid  attack 

[18] 


I  GO  TO  PARIS 


on  the  Mamelon  Vert  does  not  compensate  in  his 
eyes  for  the  check  the  Franco-English  forces  have 
suffered.  The  Emperor,'  they  said,  '  wished  to  re- 
lieve Pelissier  of  his  command,  but  MacMahon, 
with  his  blunt  frankness,  prevented  him.'  " 

I  repeated  and  wrote  all  the  political  gossip  to 
my  father,  but  I  did  not  take  part  in  the  Parisians' 
jokes  about  the  Palais  de  l'Industrie  and  its  ugli- 
ness. 

"  Paris  is  smothered  since  they  have  shut  off  her 
perspective  view  from  the  Champs-Elysees,"  was 
the  current  reproach ;  "  the  provincials  are  encum- 
bering us ;  the  strangers  are  ruining  us,  putting 
up  all  the  prices,"  they  added,  etc. 

What  dominated  my  thoughts  was  wonderment. 
Two  weeks  had  scarcely  initiated  me  to  the  hun- 
dredth part  of  all  I  wished  to  know,  and  then  there 
w..      ^e  museums,  a  whole  world  in  themselves! 

We  lived  at  an  hotel  on  the  Place  Louvois.  As 
soon  as  I  had  a  spare  moment,  I  ran,  alone,  to  the 
Museum  of  Antiquities.  My  gods  were  there,  liv- 
ing, palpitating  under  the  marble.  I  saw  Grecian 
beauty,  triumphant,  made  divine  in  the  Venus  of 
Milo. 

From  that  moment  I  was  pursued  by  the  desire 
to  live  in  an  apartment  on  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  near 
the  Court  of  the  Louvre.     What  comfort  I  could 

[19] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


find  there,  on  the  threshold  of  my  temple!  But 
my  enthusiasm  was  dampened  and  crushed  as  soon 
as  I  crossed  the  Boulevards,  or  when  I  was  hemmed 
in  by  the  crowd,  for  I  said  to  myself  that  never, 
never  could  I  make  the  smallest  place  for  myself 
in  this  multitude,  in  all  this  tumult,  in  the  capital's 
immensity,  where  everything  seemed  to  me  full  to 
overflowing  and  crowded  to  excess. 

I  went  to  the  Imperial  Library.  What  urged 
me  to  go  there  when  I  knew  I  was  of  no  account? 
Would  a  book  conceived  by  the  mind  that  my  Aunt 
Sophie  and  my  father  had  so  strangely  educated 
and  formed  ever  find  a  special  pigeon-hole  amid  so 
many  chefs-dceuvres?  The  more  I  wandered  about 
Paris,  the  more  I  became  conscious  of  the  impossi- 
bility for  me  to  become  somebody. 

The  only  thing  which  distinguished  me  from 
other  people,  and  which  I  was  obliged  to  recognise 
because  it  was  so  often  said  to  me,  was  that  my 
youthful  presence  was  attractive.  Madame  Reca- 
mier's  famous  little  chimney-sweeps  became  known 
to  me.  People  looked  at  me  and  murmured  a  com- 
plimentary word ;  but  this  manner  of  success  would 
suddenly  frighten  me  in  this  Paris,  of  whose  dan- 
gers and  allurements  I  was  aware. 

I  ask  myself  now,  how  we  could  have  been  pretty 
with  our  hair  worn  in  flat  bands  and  in  knots  at 

[20] 


I  GO  TO  PARIS 


our  necks,  with  ungraceful  curls  falling  from  them, 
and  our  frightful  bonnets  with  strings  and  ruffles 
at  the  back? 

My  husband  took  great  pleasure  in  telling  me 
of  the  daily  scandals  of  Parisian  life.  I  knew  them 
all,  perhaps  exaggerated,  and  they  terrified  me,  so 
that  the  smallest  compliment  seemed  offensive  to 
me.  Those  who  addressed  them  to  me  certainly 
had  their  minds  filled  with  the  stories  I  knew  my- 
self, and,  at  a  first  glance,  thought  me,  no  doubt, 
belonging  to  the  class  of  "  cocodettes."  Brought 
up,  as  I  had  been,  by  my  grandmother,  mother  and 
my  aunts,  all  of  whom  were  savagely  punctilious 
where  there  was  question  of  light  conduct  or  of 
honour,  I  was  fairly  shamed  when  these  compli- 
ments were  made  to  me. 

The  theatre  was  the  one  taste  in  common  shared 
by  my  husband  and  myself;  I  laughed,  I  cried,  I 
was  enthusiastic  when  I  went  to  one.  I  saw  Fre- 
deric Lemaitre,  of  whom  my  father  had  spoken  to 
me  as  the  greatest  actor  of  the  century,  at  a  bene- 
ficiary representation.  He  played  an  act  of  Les 
Trente  ans,  ou  la  vie  d'un  Jouer.  The  gambler 
came  on  the  stage,  his  features  drawn  and  deeply 
lined  by  suffering  and  by  vice,  a  repulsive  and  heart- 
rending face  at  once;  his  clothes  betrayed  great 
poverty,  although  the  arrangement  of  the  rags  he 

[21] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


wore  gave  evidence  that  he  tried  to  hide  it.  His 
hair  was  all  dishevelled  from  sleeping  in  wretched 
hovels.  His  hand  trembled  and  rested  weakly  on 
a  stick,  which  from  its  form  alone,  and  its  worn- 
out  appearance,  revealed  the  aimless  wanderings 
of  a  homeless  man.  All  this  was  suggested,  one 
felt  it,  and  it  inspired  pity  and  disgust  together. 

Frederic  Lemaitre  had  no  longer  any  teeth,  he 
could  hardly  speak,  but  what  expression  in  his  face, 
what  gestures !  All  his  acting  showed  such  grief 
in  degradation  that  it  made  you  feel  absolute  an- 
guish to  see  him  play  this  part.  They  said  Fre- 
deric Lemaitre  was  finished.  But  such  an  artist 
never  is. 

I  saw  Rachel  at  the  Theatre  Francais  in  all  her 
tragic  beauty,  when  she  played  Andromaque,  at 
her  last  but  one  representation,  on  the  23d  of  July. 
She  left  a  few  days  after  for  America. 

Eetion's  daughter,  Hector's  wife,  appeared  be- 
fore me,  as  she  is  described  by  Homer,  by  Virgil, 
Euripides,  Racine,  and  all  those  who  have  sung  the 
praises  of  Astyanax's  mother,  the  legitimized  slave 
of  Pyrrhus  and  Helenus.  Never  was  virtue,  sor- 
row, revolt,  the  latter  dominated  by  the  knowledge 
of  fatality  and  felt  by  a  modern  heart,  so  vividly 
portrayed  as  by  Rachel.  Never  was  the  woman  of 
antiquity  dressed  in  more  noble  folds,  never  was  a 

[22] 


I  GO  TO  PARIS 


Frenchwoman  more  elegantly  draped.  Rachel's 
charm  and  art  were  to  personify  Greece  itself,  and 
at  the  same  time  all  the  epochs  in  which  Greece  has 
been  comprised.  She  is  still  present  in  my  memory, 
as  she  has  never  ceased  to  be  since  I  saw  and  heard 
her,  whenever  I  have  read  of  a  daughter  of  Athens 
or  of  Troy. 

When  Rachel  had  gone,  the  public  rushed  to  see 
Ristori,  who  was  splendidly  supported  by  Rossi, 
then  very  young  and  unknown.  He  played  Paolo 
to  her  Francesca  da  Rimini,  and  his  success  was 
almost  equal  to  Ristori's.  Those  representations 
at  the  Salle  Ventadour  delighted  me  beyond  words. 
Some  persons  with  narrow  minds,  incapable  of 
feeling  a  two-fold  admiration,  were  determined  to 
call  Ristori  a  rival  to  Rachel.  The  two  great  tra- 
gediennes resembled  each  other  in  nothing.  They 
could  only  be  criticised  by  contrasting  them. 

Madame  Ristori  in  Myrrha,  in  Marie  Stuart,  in 
Alfieri's  Antigone,  was  sublime,  but  everything  was 
different  in  her  and  in  Rachel:  their  acting,  their 
comprehension  of  the  character  of  a  role,  and  their 
attitudes.  Alfieri  suppresses  action;  there  are  no 
confidants,  no  lovers,  whom  he  deems  useless.  He 
creates  situations  by  dialogues  alone.  Madame 
Ristori  delineated  the  effects  of  passion  externally, 
so  to  speak,  by   expressing  its  cruelties.      Rachel 

[23] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


graduated  passion  by  increasing,  restrained  effects. 
Her  idea  of  intensity  was  that  it  must  be  profound, 
and  depicted  half  inwardly.  Rachel  personified 
tragedy,  Ristori  the  tragic. 

Monsieur  de  Lamartine,  Theophile  Gautier,  and 
Alexandre  Dumas  were  loud  in  their  admiration  of 
Ristori.  Legouve,  Scribe,  Jules  Janin,  all  three, 
extolled  her,  a  little  the  less  for  her  talent,  it  was 
said,  than  to  revenge  themselves  on  Rachel. 

Monsieur  Fould  went  to  Ristori  in  the  Emperor's 
name,  begging  her  not  to  leave  Paris,  and  endeav- 
ouring to  persuade  her  that  she  would  make  a 
greater  reputation  for  herself  at  the  Theatre  Fran- 
cais  than  anywhere  else,  above  all,  than  in  Italy. 

Madame  Ristori  quickly  unravelled  the  various 
reasons  which,  outside  of  sincere  admiration  for 
her,  influenced  some  of  her  friends  to  be  exagger- 
atedly fanatical  about  her.  Legouve  and  Scribe 
could  not  forgive  Rachel,  the  first  for  the  non- 
success  of  his  Medee  and  both  of  them  for  her 
caprices  about  Adrienne  Lecouvreur.  Jules  Janin 
still  felt  hurt  about  certain  things  she  had  said 
of  him. 

Madame  Ristori  answered :  "  I  am  an  Italian 
woman.  I  have  the  temperament  of  my  race,  its 
spontaneity,  an  accent  that  would  be  shocking  in 
the  house  of  Moliere.     My  education  would  need 

[24] 


I  GO  TO  PARIS 


to  be  remade,  for  it  is  far  from  classical.  I  desire 
nothing  more  than  what  has  been  given  to  me  in 
France.  The  kindness  with  which  they  have  over- 
whelmed me,  and  which  is  expressed  for  my  coun- 
try's art,  for  my  nation's  welfare,  and  for  myself, 
makes  me  deeply  grateful.  How  could  I  take  a 
Frenchwoman's  place,  when  it  is  as  an  Italian 
woman  that  I  am  specially  happy  at  being  ap- 
plauded?" 

Madame  Ristori  was  one  of  the  first  to  make 
oppressed  Italy  loved  in  France.  Cavour  wrote  to 
her :  "  Brava !  in  the  name  of  Italy  unified,  which 
you  serve  by  your  success."  The  majority  of  the 
Imperialists  were  enthusiastic  over  Italy's  struggles 
for  liberty,  and  Victor  Emmanuel  won  a  place,  even 
in  our  Republican  admiration. 

Madame  Ristori  became  a  great  friend  of  Le- 
gouve  during  her  first  sojourn  in  Paris.  She  had 
played  his  Adrienne  Lecouvreur  in  Italy,  and  the 
following  year  his  Medee,  translated  by  Monta- 
nelli,  with  immense  success  in  France. 

A  few  days  before  our  departure  from  Paris,  in 
the  early  part  of  September,  we  heard  the  news 
of  the  attack  on  Malakoff,  the  Russians'  defeat, 
and  of  the  taking  of  Sebastopol.  The  joy  at  the 
success  of  our  army  was  great  in  all  parties,  but 
we  were  grieved  at  the  thought  that  our  victories 

[25] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


were  shared  by  the  English.  At  the  table  d'hote, 
where  we  had  become  acquainted  with  several  per- 
sons, a  retired  officer  exclaimed,  to  every  one's  de- 
light :  "  At  last  we  can  become  again  friends  with 
the  Cossack's  and  Albion's  enemy." 

Towards  the  end  of  our  stay  in  Paris,  my  hus- 
band wished  to  take  me  to  see  Auguste  Comte.  He 
spoke  to  me  about  an  "  initiation,"  a  "  Comtist 
marriage,"  "  a  blessing  on  our  union,"  which  he 
desired  me  to  accept,  or  undergo.  I  was  so  carried 
away  with  indignation  that  he  did  not  press  the 
subject. 

After  I  returned  to  Soissons,  I  took  no  interest 
save  in  things  concerning  Paris.  What  was  taking 
place  in  literature,  new  philosophical  ideas,  and 
politics  alone  occupied  my  mind.  I  wrote  long 
letters  to  my  father  about  the  "  events." 

I  cannot  describe  what  highly  important  con- 
versations I  had  with  my  friend  Pauline  Barbereux, 
my  daughter's  godmother,  whose  father,  a  bar- 
rister, was  my  husband's  companion  in  pleasures 
and  in  hunting,  and  who  gave  his  wife  the  same 
cares,  sorrows,  and  anxieties  as  those  I  had  myself. 
Madame  Barbereux  shut  herself  up  and  wept.  I 
occupied  my  mind  and  exchanged  ideas  with  her 
daughter,  who  adored  my  little  girl,  whom  we 
brought  up  together.     Pauline  Barbereux  and  my- 

[26] 


I  GO  TO  PARIS 


self  were  enormously  interested  in  the  Treaty  of 
Peace  with  Russia.  As  soon  as  we  could  sum  up 
forty  years  between  us,  we  considered  our  "  ma- 
turity "  complete,  and,  in  our  conversations  to- 
gether, we  recognised  that  we  each  held  surprising 
views  on  European  affairs. 

My  father,  to  whom  I  communicated  our  supe- 
rior appreciation  of  things  in  general,  did  not  seem 
to  think  them  of  much  account.  He  was  absorbed 
in  the  movement  of  public  opinion.  He  had  long 
since  forgiven  his  "  dear  exiles,"  Ledru-Rollin  and 
Louis  Blanc,  and  was  impatiently  awaiting  their 
return.  The  failure  of  Edmond  About's  Guillery, 
at  the  Theatre  Francais,  had  delighted  him. 
"  When  the  students  hissed  the  joker  who  made 
sport  of  contemporaneous  Greece  they  also  hissed 
the  so-called  son  of  Voltaire  and  the  prop  of  Plon- 
Plon's  anteroom.  The  too  trifling  writer,  and  Vol- 
taire's plagiarist,  had  learned  at  his  own  expense 
that  popularity  is  not  solely  acquired  by  courting 
power,  or  by  disrespect  shown  to  a  people  just 
freed  from  the  bloody  clutches  of  a  conqueror. 
The  non-success  of  Guillery  is  entirely  political," 
my  father  added,  "  and  is  also  a  protestation  di- 
rected against  the  author's  personality,  for  the  play 
itself,  it  seems,  is  good,  and  Got  is  marvellous 
in  it." 

3  [27] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


The  opposition  journals  cried  out  loudly  against 
Guillery,  its  immorality,  and  against  the  influence 
of  Imperial  corruption,  "  which  was  filtering 
through  everything  more  and  more.  There  were 
such  scandalous  things  in  Edmond  About's  play," 
they  wrote,  "  that  they  could  not  be  repeated  ex- 
cept with  veiled  faces."  Every  one  wished  to  hear 
them,  but  proper-minded  persons  did  not  dare  to 
smile  at  them. 


[28] 


CHAPTER    III 


MY    FURTHER    LIFE    IN    PARIS 


1 


EBRUARY  had  come,  and  Pauline  Barbe- 
reux  and  I  continued  to  read  and  talk  to- 
gether. My  daughter,  who  was  eighteen  months 
old,  would  play  with  our  journals,  which  we  would 
give  her,  and  would  accompany  our  conversations 
with  a  sort  of  monotonous  chant  that  delighted  us. 
Alphonse  Karr  was  publishing  at  this  time  week- 
ly papers  in  the  Siecle  which  recalled  his  Guepes, 
under  the  title  of  Bourdonnements.  He  criticised 
crinoline  with  a  great  deal  of  wit  and  common  sense 
at  once.  I  had  courageously  resisted  the  "  steel 
circle,"  the  amplitude  of  starched  petticoats  seem- 
ing preferable  to  me,  not  because  men  loudly  ap- 
plauded my  resistance,  for  I  was  not  bent  on  pleas- 
ing them,  but  because  I  found  the  fashion  gro- 
tesque. In  one  of  his  articles,  Alphonse  Karr  de- 
clared "  that  there  was  not  a  single  young  or  pretty 
woman  in  France  who  did  not  wear  crinoline," 
whose  indiscreet  inconveniences  he  set  forth,  as 
shown  in  stairways,  in  descending  from  or  getting 
into  a  carriage,  or  when  a  woman  sat  down  in  a 
too  narrow  chair. 

[29] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Pauline  Barbereux  used  to  bring  me  the  Siecle, 
her  father  being  a  subscriber  to  it.  She  envied 
me  my  starched  petticoats  and  detested  crinoline, 
which  her  mother  made  her  wear  as  being  "  more 
proper."  We  read  Alphonse  Karr's  article  in 
turn,  out  loud.  At  the  passage,  "  there  is  not  a 
single  young  or  pretty  woman  in  France  who  does 
not  wear  crinoline,"  I  said  to  my  friend :  "  I  sup- 
pose I  should  write  to  Alphonse  Karr  that  there 
is  myself?"  "Yes,  yes,  do!"  she  cried,  and  I 
had  soon  finished  my  letter.  Of  course,  I  did  not 
intend  to  sign  it,  so  I  expatiated  complacently  on 
my  good  looks  in  the  note  that  accompanied  my 
Reflections.  "  Yes,  Monsieur,  there  is  a  pretty 
woman,  twenty  years  old,  who  does  not  wear,  and 
who  has  never  worn,  crinoline.  There  is  one  in 
France,  in  the  provinces,  and  it  is  myself — Ju- 
liette." 

I  took  the  liberty  of  writing  a  number  of  re- 
flections on  woman's  role  in  our  epoch.  I  imitated 
Alphonse  Karr's  style  as  much  as  I  possibly  could, 
and  I  read  my  rough  copy  to  Pauline. 

"  Ah,  ah,  ah !  "  cried  my  little  Alice. 

Pauline  declared  the  letter  superb;  she  took  it 
from  me  and  dictated  it  to  me  solemnly,  while  I 
copied  it  on  some  gorgeous  paper.  Having  read 
"  the  article,"  as  Pauline  baptized  it,  a  second  time, 

[30] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

I  placed  it  tenderly  in  a  large  envelope,  sealed  it 
with  a  beautiful  seal  bearing  the  name  of  Juliette, 
and  we  carried  our  missive  to  the  post-office. 

How  Pauline  and  I  counted  the  very  hours  of 
the  next  eight  days  cannot  be  described.  Would 
Alphonse  Karr  speak  of  my  answer?  All  the  week 
such  discussions  as  we  had  on  the  possibilities  of 
this  or  that! 

I  had  dreamed  of  Myosotis  the  night  preceding 
the  day  on  which  the  Bourdonnements  would  ap- 
pear. I  thought  it  a  good  sign.  Would  Paris 
read,  on  awakening  on  the  20th  of  February,  1856, 
some  prose  by  "Juliette"?  But  on  that  day, 
Pauline  entered  my  room,  pale,  scarcely  able  to 
hold  herself  up.  The  Siecle  trembled  in  her 
hand. 

"  It  is  in  it,  Juliette !    The  whole  of  it  is  in  it!  " 

The  whole  of  it? 

We  stood,  looking  at  one  another,  each  one  hold- 
ing an  end  of  the  paper.  We  took  two  chairs, 
which  we  placed  close  together;  we  unfolded  the 
Siecle.  My  entire  letter  was  in  it.  I  read  it,  Pau- 
line reread  it.     Not  a  word  had  been  changed ! 

I  burst  into  tears.  Pauline  wept.  My  little 
Alice,  who  was  playing  on  the  floor,  cried  at  seeing 
our  tears ;  but  her  godmother  sang  to  her  and  con- 
soled her,     I  thought  of  my  beloved  grandmother, 

[31] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


who  was  dead,  for  it  was  in  this  very  room  that 

she  had  appeared  to  me,  and  I  cried  out: 
"  Grandmother,  I  will  be  a  writer ! " 
I  sent  the  article  to  my  father,  and  explained 

to  him  the  reason  for  my  writing  it. 

"  At  last,"  he  replied,  "  I  see  in  this,  for  the 

first  time,  a  promise  of  talent." 

The  birth  of  the  Prince  Imperial,  with  the  Pope 
as  his  godfather,  made  my  father  furious.  "  There 
was  an  heir  to  the  Empire,  and  he  was  vowed  to 
papacy  from  his  birth!  Was  it  not  all  abomi- 
nable?" 

The  time  for  us  to  leave  Soissons  drew  near. 
In  a  few  months  my  fate  would  be  decided ;  we  were 
going  to  live  in  Paris. 

I  read  with  feverish  haste  all  that  I  could  lay 
my  hands  on,  knowing  that  I  should  not  have  the 
same  leisure  at  Paris. 

The  year  sped  by  rapidly.  While  my  husband 
was  looking  about  in  Paris  for  an  apartment, 
which  he  wished,  like  myself,  near  the  Louvre, 
"  astride  the  two  banks,"  as  he  said,  I  went  with 
my  daughter  to  pass  three  months  at  Chauny.  I 
heard  there,  with  many  unknown  details,  of  the 
assassination  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  by  Verger. 
This  Verger  was  a  protege  of  one  of  my  father's 

[32] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

companions  at  the  Seminary  of  Beauvais,  with 
whom  he  had  remained  friendly.  This  companion, 
who  belonged  to  the  "  Missions,"  and  who  died 
later  in  China,  frightfully  martyrized,  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  my  father,  in  which  he  pleaded  extenua- 
ting circumstances  for  Verger.  My  father  had  his 
own  ideas  about  it,  and  indignantly  condemned  the 
act. 

When  I  left  Chauny  with  my  daughter,  to  join 
my  husband  in  Paris,  I  travelled  with  Madame 
Ugalde  in  the  same  railway  carriage.  She  talked 
to  me  of  my  daughter,  of  her  own,  then  of  her 
happy  home,  and  of  Fiammina,  by  Mario  Uchard, 
which  had  just  been  played  at  the  Theatre  Fran- 
cais,  and  about  which  all  Paris  was  wild. 

The  celebrated  Galatee  and  I,  a  bourgeoise, 
were  both  agreed  on  this  point:  that  no  matter 
how  many  passions  an  actress  might  feel,  no  matter 
what  her  love  for  celebrity  might  be,  she  was  emi- 
nently culpable  when  she  abandoned  her  child,  as 
Fiammina  did.  It  is  well  known  that  Mario  Uchard 
wrote  his  own  story  in  this  play,  and  that  Fiam- 
mina was  Madeleine  Brohan. 

At  last  I  was  living  in  Paris,  Rue  de  Rivoli, 
opposite  to  the  Louvre.  If  my  grandmother  had 
been  still  living,  she  would  have  inspired  me  with 
some  of  the  confidence  she  felt  in  myself. 

[33] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


During  the  first  days,  I  had  but  two  sensations: 
that  of  being  isolated  in  this  immense  city,  and  of 
being  oppressed  by  the  noise  made  by  others.  I 
knew  no  one.  Those  of  my  husband's  friends  whom 
he  presented  to  me  I  thought  odious.  They  talked 
of  nothing  but  business,  of  easy  or  difficult  money- 
making.  I  ought,  however,  to  have  been  satisfied. 
One  of  my  dearest  desires  was  realized:  I  was  very 
near  to  the  Museum  of  Antiquities,  to  the  temple 
of  my  gods. 

We  had  a  balcony,  and  as  soon  as  I  would  re- 
turn from  my  visit  to  the  Tuileries  with  my  daugh- 
ter, I  took  up  my  abode  on  it,  in  order  to  grow 
accustomed  to  the  noises  of  Paris,  that  resounded 
in  my  brain  as  though  in  a  metal  vase.  I  suffered 
from  dreadful  neuralgia,  which  a  physician  in  the 
quarter  finally  cured.  In  talking  with  Doctor  de 
Bonnard,  I  discovered  that  he  was  in  correspond- 
ence with  my  father  apropos  of  a  pamphlet  of  the 
latter's  concerning  typhoid  fever,  of  which  he  had 
made  marvellous  cures.  This  pamphlet  he  had  sent 
to  every  doctor  in  France. 

Doctor  de  Bonnard  became  my  friend.  He  ad- 
vised me,  as  I  wrote  poetry,  to  become  a  member 
of  the  Union  des  Poetes.  He  was  very  intimate 
with  Emile  Richebourg,  a  member,  who  introduced 
me  to  the  society.     Richebourg  wrote  poetry  in  a 

[34] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

light  vein  and  was,  they  said,  a  protege  of  old 
Beranger.  He  took  me  one  day  to  see  the  author 
of  the  songs  my  grandfather  sang,  up  to  the  very 
time  of  his  death,  and  whom  he  called,  lisping  sol- 
emnly, "  the  Emperor's  poet,"  and  whom  my  fa- 
ther named  "  the  poet  of  liberty  and  of  the  peo- 
ple." I  never  met  a  more  charming,  fatherly,  or 
simple  old  man,  or  one  kinder,  although  in  a  sar- 
castic way.  I  took  him  what  I  considered  my 
"  finest  inspiration."  After  reading  it,  he  clasped 
my  hands  and  said :  "  My  child,  you  will  never  be 
a  poet,  but  you  may  be  a  writer." 

The  future  hope  did  not  mitigate  the  criticism. 
But  just  as  Richebourg  had  smiled  at  Beranger's 
severity  to  me,  and  at  my  unhappy  air,  so  did  I 
smile  at  him  in  return,  when  Beranger  added :  "  It 
is  just  like  my  dear  Richebourg,  who  sincerely 
thinks  himself  a  poet,  a  charming  poet  of  light 
verses!  Now,  I  predict  that  he  will  be  an  ultra- 
dramatic  novel  writer,  since  I  heard  him  relate  the 
story  of  an  assassination  he  had  seen." 

Beranger  was  a  prophet.  Emile  Richebourg 
wrote  many  dramatic  plays  and  novels,  and  is 
spoken  of  as  "  the  author  of  L'Enfant  du  Fau- 
bourg, which  appeared  in  Le  Petit  Journal,  where 
it  had  great  success.  The  popular  song-maker 
had  divined  the  popular  novel-writer. 

[35] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Beranger  said  to  me,  when  I  left  him :  "  Good- 
bye, my  child.  You  will  not  be  offended  with  me 
long."  I  asked  him,  sadly,  why  "  good-bye  "  and 
not  "  till  we  meet  again  "?    Had  I  displeased  him? 

Shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  looking  out  of  the 
open  window,  he  replied :  "  I  think  I  shall  go  be- 
fore long  to  see  '  the  God  of  good  people.'  " 

He  died  soon  after. 

I  wrote  no  more  poetry,  and  gradually  gave  up 
going  to  the  Union  des  Poetes.  Richebourg, 
also,  withdrew  from  it,  and  soon  after  he  told  me, 
one  day,  that  he  had  begun  to  write  a  novel — 
Lucienne. 

I  became  acquainted  at  this  time,  again  through 
Doctor  de  Bonnard,  with  Charles  Fauvety,  the 
founder  and  editor  of  La  Revue  Philosophique. 
There  was  a  gathering  once  a  week  at  his  house, 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Michodiere,  where  they  talked 
and  discussed  philosophy  and  social  science.  These 
questions  had  always  interested  me.  Madame 
Jenny  d'Hericourt,  who  had  acquired  deserved 
authority  in  this  circle  from  her  serious  studies, 
could  not  bear  that  I  should  take  part  in  debates 
in  which  "  the  most  serious  questions  were  proposed 
and  which,"  she  said,  "  demanded  mature  knowl- 
edge with  which  to  answer  them."  Both  Monsieur 
Renouvier    and    Monsieur    Fauvety    were    much 

[36] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

amused  at  this  rivalry,  that  existed  only  in  Ma- 
dame d'Hericourt's  mind,  whose  superiority  I 
frankly  admitted,  but  as  she  became  more  and 
more  bitter  every  week,  sometimes  I  lost  patience. 
There  was  a  word  in  these  discussions  of  which 
Madame  d'Hericourt  made  too  frequent  use,  which 
was  the  word  antinomy. 

Monsieur  Renouvier  often  spoke  of  "  synthesis, 
of  contrary  things,  of  the  different  attributes  that 
could  be  observed  at  one  and  the  same  time,  in  one 
human  being."  Madame  d'Hericourt's  "  antino- 
mies," as  can  be  supposed,  easily  found  a  place  in 
these  discussions. 

Monsieur  Renouvier  had  contributed  largely  to 
the  Encyclopedic  Nouvelle,  founded  by  Pierre  Le- 
roux  and  Jean  Reynaud.  He  had  been  writing 
for  three  years  on  his  great  work,  Essais  de  Cri- 
tique Generale,  which  he  did  not  finish  until  many 
years  later,  and  he  also  wrote  for  Monsieur  Fau- 
vety's  Revue  Philosophique,  of  which  he  was  the 
most  important  collaborator.  Renouvier  was  con- 
sidered the  most  erudite  of  all  the  philosophers  of 
that  epoch.  He  was  pronounced  superior  to  Victor 
Cousin,  from  whose  theories  he  had  separated  him- 
self by  attacking  eclecticism  as  a  doctrine  which 
led  to  the  abasement  of  man's  character.  Renouvier 
was  the  first  to  establish,  in  most  admirable  deduc- 

[37] 


atvi 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


tions,  the  connection  of  the  philosophic  doctrines  of 
each  epoch  with  the  state  of  science  of  their  times. 
His  ambition  was  to  reform  Kantism,  and  to  replace 
philosophy  by  criticism.  Although  admitting,  with 
Kant,  that  our  knowledge  cannot  go  beyond  phe- 
nomena, he  was  not  a  Kantist ;  although  recog- 
nising with  Auguste  Comte  that  the  search  for  the 
absolute  led  to  an  abyss  of  error,  he  was  not  a 
Positivist.  He  condemned  the  materialism  of  posi- 
tivism severely.  He  affirmed  the  idea,  of  course, 
which  Kant  and  Auguste  Comte  did  not  accept, 
and  he  separated  from  them  both  by  a  very  haught- 
ily expressed  opinion,  "  I  establish,"  he  said,  "  be- 
tween certitude  and  faith,  between  belief  and  will, 
an  immense  connection." 

I  felt  great  admiration  for  Monsieur  Renouvier. 
He  had  a  noble,  liberal  mind,  eager  for  truth;  he 
possessed  strong  opinions,  but  without  sectarian- 
ism of  any  kind,  which  was  the  besetting  sin  of 
the  writers  in  the  Revue  Philosophique,  and  espe- 
cially of  Madame  Jenny  d'Hericourt.  One  of  her 
bugbears  was  Proudhon,  of  whom  she  could  never 
speak  without  growing  angry.  She  was  the  au- 
thor of  a  valuable  work  on  the  theories  of  the 
great  dialectician,  which  I  had  read,  and  she  was 
inexpressibly  irritated  with  me  because  I  had  had 
the  audacity  to  speak  to  her  of  this  book.     All 

[38] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

my  early  youth  had  been  passed  in  battling  with 
my  father  about  Proudhon.  I  knew  all  the  phases 
of  his  mind,  but  this  Madame  d'Hericourt  would 
never  admit.  "  Do  you  see  that  silly  jade  who 
pretends  to  explain  Proudhon  to  me,"  she  said  to 
Monsieur  Fauvety,  who  repeated  the  conversation 
to  me. 

"  She  does  not  mean  to  explain  him  to  you,  she 
is  only  proving  to  you  that  she  knows  him  and  can 
pass  judgment  on  your  book,"  replied  Monsieur 
Fauvety. 

"  A  woman  of  her  age  know  Proudhon !  Oh, 
come  now ;  you  have  been  prompting  her !  " 

Madame  Fauvety  was  an  intelligent,  intellectual 
woman.  She  had  received  a  first  prize  for  tragedy 
at  the  Conservatoire,  and  some  persons  had  endeav- 
oured, a  few  years  before,  to  rank  her  as  a  rival 
to  Rachel.  A  success  she  had  obtained,  and  which 
was  brought  about  especially  by  a  party  of  friends, 
induced  her  to  believe  that  she  was,  in  truth,  if 
not  superior  to  Rachel,  at  least  equal  to  "Phedre." 
But  Rachel  soon  put  aside  this  so-called  rival. 
Madame  Fauvety  thought  it  was  the  Empire  and 
Monsieur  de  Morny,  who  had  sacrificed  her  to 
Rachel,  and  was  consequently  one  of  the  most  ar- 
dent among  us  to  take  up  arms  against  "  the  reign 
of  pleasure." 

[39] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


The  Fauvetys  had  a  country  house  at  Asnieres, 
where  they  lived  during  the  summer,  and  where 
they  went  in  winter,  when  the  weather  permitted, 
to  pass  Sundays  and  to  exercise  their  "  children." 
The  "  children  "  were  two  handsome  dogs,  one  very 
small,  the  other  very  large.  One  day  I  received 
the  following  note  from  Madame  Fauvety :  "  Come 
to  me  as  soon  as  you  possibly  can;  we  have  lost 
one  of  our  '  children.'  " 

I  went  to  the  Rue  de  la  Michodiere.  "  Zozo," 
Madame  Fauvety  said  to  me,  "  has  disappeared 
since  yesterday  morning.  You  must  help  me  to 
find  him  by  going  to  a  fortune-teller.  I  am  afraid 
of  sorcerers ;  Fauvety  is  strong-minded,  and  laughs 
at  me  about  this  plan,  but,  nevertheless,  he  will 
be  glad,  I  know,  if  some  one  will  consult  a  clair- 
voyant for  us.  Go  to  Edmond,  Rue  Fontaine, 
about  poor  Zozo,  I  beseech  you.     Will  you  go?  " 

"  Very  willingly,"  I  replied. 

I  said  to  myself,  as  I  was  walking  to  see  Ed- 
mond, these  persons  are  all  shameful  charlatans. 
They  have  accomplices  in  the  anterooms.  I  will 
not  answer  a  word,  not  even  a  yes  or  a  no,  if  any 
one  speaks  to  me. 

I  arrived  at  Edmond's  residence,  and  was  ushered 
into  a  very  dark  room.  I  sat  down.  Three  per- 
sons were  to  go  in  to  consult  him  before  me,  and 

[40] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

several  others  arrived  after  me.  They  all  seemed 
much  impressed  and  asked  each  other  many  ques- 
tions. At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  could 
have  told  them  all  their  fortunes.  At  last  my  turn 
came.  The  drapery  over  the  door  was  raised  for 
the  fourth  time,  and  I  went  where  the  three  other 
persons  had  gone,  and  whom  I  did  not  see  again. 
I  entered  a  rather  large  drawing-room,  sombre  in 
spite  of  its  coloured-glass  windows.  Edmond  was 
tall  and  very  handsome  in  his  black  velvet  tunic. 
His  eyes  had  an  earnest  and  enveloping  gaze. 
After  motioning  me  to  sit  down,  he  did  likewise, 
and  began  playing  with  some  cards,  to  show,  I 
thought,  his  beautiful  hands.  An  hour-glass,  sev- 
eral stuffed  owls,  and  the  symbolical  chain  Edmond 
wore  over  his  tunic  attracted  my  attention.  We 
looked  attentively  at  each  other.  Silence  still 
reigned  between  us. 

"  Cut,"  he  said,  presenting  me  the  cards.  I  cut 
them,  and  then,  holding  his  cards  in  his  hands: 

"  You  have  come,"  he  said  at  length,  slowly, 
"  about  a  dog." 

I  started. 

"  The  dog  is  not  lost,"  he  continued.  "  He  has 
gone  back  to  the  country,  whither  he  went  to  see 
one  of  his  friends.  A  lady  met  him,  caught  him 
by  the  collar,  and  wishes  to  keep  him.     He  is  now 

[41] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


tied  up,  but  after  six  weeks  she  will  think  he  has 
grown  accustomed  to  the  place,  and  will  let  him 
loose.  He  will  escape  and  go  back  to  the  gate  of 
his  master's  garden.  They  must  be  warned,  so 
that  he  can  be  let  in." 

I  rose  and  thanked  him. 

"  But,  madame,  I  have  not  finished."  Edmond 
added :  "  I  must  tell  you  your  fortune." 

"  My  fortune  will  not  be  a  good  one  to  tell." 

"  It  will  be  good,  as  you  will  hear." 

"  Ah,  no ! "  I  replied,  moving  toward  the  door. 

Edmond  did  not  move. 

"  You  are  fond  of  formulas,"  he  said.  "  This 
is  one  of  yours :  '  We  are  charlatans.'  " 

"  I  have  not  said  so  to  you." 

"  Yes,  charlatans,  when  we  endeavour  to  disen- 
tangle the  destiny  of  a  star  from  out  the  mazes  of 
the  Milky  Way." 

I  approached  him. 

"  But  when  we  have  a  star  visible  to  the  naked 
eye " 

"What!  am  I  a  visible  star?" 

I  sat  down. 

"  You  see,  I  was  right,"  said  Edmond,  smiling, 
and  then  he  made  me  draw  cards  from  out  his 
pack,  and  told  me  that  in  a  year  I  would  suddenly 
become  well  known  from  a  book  I  would  write,  in 

[42] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

answer  to  one  that  was  being  written  at  that  very 
moment,  and  then,  almost  year  by  year,  he  pre- 
dicted to  me  the  life  I  have  since  led. 

Madame  Fauvety  was  delighted  at  the  news  I 
took  her,  and  even  the  sceptical  Fauvety  declared 
they  would  search  no  longer  for  the  dog,  but  would 
wait  for  the  six  weeks  to  expire,  in  order  to  prove 
the  truth  of  the  sorcerer's  predictions.  We  swore 
to  each  other  to  keep  all  this  a  secret.  When  I 
returned  home  I  found  my  mother  had  arrived  to 
see  about  a  loan  my  husband  had  asked  my  father 
to  make  him.  Edmond  had  spoken  to  me  of  this, 
and  had  said :  "  Never  lend  money  except  to  those 
who  can  give  you  guarantees;  on  no  account  to 
any  others." 

I  told  my  mother,  who  believed  strongly  in  pre- 
dictions, all  that  Edmond  had  said  to  me,  and  she 
wrote  it  down  and  took  it  to  my  father,  who 
laughed  at  my  credulity  in  such  a  quizzing  way 
that  I  finally  lost  patience.  I  made  a  bet  with 
him  that  the  dog  would  be  found,  leaving  each  one 
of  us  free  to  choose  what  the  forfeit  would  be,  and 
my  choice  was  that  he  should  pay  for  the  publica- 
tion of  my  famous  first  book,  for  I  then  supposed 
that  I  would  be  obliged  to  pay  for  the  cost  of 
publishing  it. 

One  fine  day  the  dog  went  and  barked  at  Ma- 
4  [43] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


dame  Fauvety's  garden  gate.  She  had  counted 
the  days,  and  had  gone  there  the  day  before  the 
six  weeks  had  expired.  I  was  at  once  informed 
of  Zozo's  having  been  found,  and  I  confess  I  felt 
some  emotion  on  learning  the  news.  Did  it  not 
make  it  possible  that  the  other  predictions  might 
come  true? 

When  I  went,  the  day  after,  to  my  friends' 
evening  reception,  Zozo  recognised  me.  His  large 
eyes  seemed  more  expressive  than  ever,  and  some- 
what tinged  with  sorcery. 

That  evening,  Messrs.  Fauvety  and  Renouvier 
talked  of  Taine,  who  had  just  published  his  Essais 
de  Critique  et  d'Histoire.  Only  a  year  had  elapsed 
between  this  volume,  a  veritable  monument  of 
knowledge,  and  the  preceding  sensational  appear- 
ance of  Les  Philosophes  Francais.  In  speaking  of 
the  Essais,  Monsieur  Renouvier  again  expressed  his 
admiration  for  the  Philosophes.  "  The  young 
writers  are  admirable,  most  admirable,"  he  said, 
and  their  precursors,  such  as  myself,  rarely  have 
the  happiness  I  feel  in  being  able  to  count  on 
their  disciples.  I  had  something  to  do  with  hatch- 
ing Taine,  but  as  a  hen  hatches  a  duck.  He  was 
really  too  severe  on  Cousin." 

"  Yes,  almost  cruel,"  added  Monsieur  Fauvety, 
"  and  you  yourself  were   not  too  tender  toward 

[44] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

him ;  but  his  definition  of  eclecticism,  '  a  system 
of  philosophy  which  consists  in  having  none,'  is  a 
stroke  of  wit,  and  a  proof  of  French  common  sense, 
that  will  never  be  surpassed.  These  simple  words 
became  the  '  Shut  Sesame  '  of  the  temple  erected 
to  Cousin  by  University  adulation." 

"  What  I  reproach  Taine  with,"  answered  Mon- 
sieur Renouvier,  "  and  which  is  apparent  in  every- 
thing he  writes,  is  his  hatred  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, of  democracy,  and  of  the  masses.  He  be- 
comes in  this  wise  a  champion  of  positivism.  The 
theory  that  a  government  should  be  formed  of  a 
chosen  few  will  enlist  him  among  the  disciples  of 
Auguste  Comte.  It  will  be  a  pity,  for  see  how 
much  time  Littre  has  lost  in  getting  rid  of  Comt- 
ist  ideas." 

"  No,  no,"  Monsieur  Fauvety  replied ;  "  Taine 
will  never  be  enlisted  in  that  party.  The  Essais 
de  Critique  are  a  fresh  proof  of  it.  What  inde- 
pendence, what  individuality  of  ideas  in  his  criti- 
cisms and  in  his  style!  Taine  will  ever  be  a  hope 
and  a  dread  to  all  philosophical  systems.  He  has 
taken  a  whip  in  hand  and  will  make  himself  the 
executioner,  and  during  the  next  half  century  he 
will  flagellate  all  ideas  that  have  deteriorated  by 
usage.  I,  who  am  a  philosopher,  fear  only  him, 
and  have  confidence  but  in  him  alone." 

[45] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Madame  Fauvety,  naturally,  liked  to  discuss  the 
theatre.  She  knew  every  play  that  was  produced, 
but,  with  a  taste  peculiar  to  herself,  she  always 
waited  until  the  last  performances  were  announced 
before  she  went  to  see  them.  After  she  had  read  all 
the  reviews  about  them,  "  and  felt,"  as  she  said, 
"  that  the  actors,  from  having  played  their  parts 
for  a  long  time,  had  become  thoroughly  identified 
with  their  roles,"  she  went  to  see  the  play,  and  then 
felt  she  could  criticise  its  merits  in  a  proper  way. 
The  first  time  she  took  me  to  the  Theatre  Francais 
we  saw  Fiammina,  of  which  Madame  Ugalde  had 
spoken  to  me.  The  younger  Dumas  was  her  fa- 
vourite author.  She  talked  of  nothing  else  but  of 
him  during  the  entre  actes  and  of  Fiammina.  She 
was  enthusiastic  over  the  Dame  aux  Camelias,  Diane 
de  Lys,  and,  above  all,  over  the  Question  d' Argent, 
which  had  been  played  at  the  beginning  of  the 
year.  "  The  younger  Dumas's  work,"  she  said, 
"  has  a  particular  signification.     It  is  social." 

Living  among  philosophers,  and  taking  part  in 
their  discussions,  she  delighted  in  argument. 

"  As  Catholicism,"  she  said,  "  grows  more  mate- 
rial, the  spirit  of  Christianity  will  enlighten  us  the 
more.  Pity  felt  for  sins  emanates  from  Jesus. 
The  younger  Dumas  is  a  true  Christian,  for  he  is 
merciful  to  Magdalen." 

[46] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 


One  of  my  friends  belonging  to  the  "  Union  des 
Poetes  "  presented  a  young  artist  to  me,  a  pupil 
of  Ary  Scheffer's,  who  was  sometimes  given  to 
writing  poetry,  who  had  thought  of  becoming  a 
member  of  the  "  Union  "  and  wished  to  know  why 
I  was  about  to  leave  it.  His  name  was  Claudius 
Popelin,  and  he  had  already  painted  several  pic- 
tures that  had  been  much  remarked :  a  Dante  read- 
ing his  poems  to  Giotto,  etc.  Son  of  a  rich  manu- 
facturer, handsome,  elegant,  very  artistic,  he  was 
destined  to  rise  to  a  high  Parisian  reputation.  He 
delighted  to  ridicule  the  dress  we  were  then  doomed 
to  wear,  and  I  made  him  read  my  letter  to  Al- 
phonse  Karr,  which  greatly  pleased  him. 

I  was  a  little  less  rotund  than  my  contempora- 
ries, but  Claudius  Popelin  thought  I  was  not  yet 
enough  "  like  a  true  woman,"  as  he  said,  and  he 
declared  I  ought  to  put  myself  at  the  head  of  a 
league  of  "  Gaulish  "  protestation  against  crino- 
line, as  having  Velleda's  type,  my  mission  was 
clearly  indicated. 

"  Certainly,"  he  added,  "  you  are  less  rotund 
than  the  others,  but  you  still  resemble  a  beetle,  with 
a  small  head  and  an  enormous  paunch." 

I  can  still  remember  how  delighted  I  was  to  re- 
ceive from  Alexandre  Weill  an  invitation  to  an 
"  travestied    ball,"    as    they    said    in    those    days. 

[47] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Richebourg  had  procured  it  for  me.  I  had  never 
worn  a  costume.  My  husband  consented  to  take 
me  only  on  condition  that  he  might  go  in  ordinary 
evening  dress.  Monsieur  Weill  refused  the  per- 
mission to  Richebourg,  but  he  confided  to  him  that 
there  would  be  coloured  silk  blouses  and  belts  pro- 
vided for  the  recalcitrant  guests,  and  that  he  would 
array  them  in  them  when  they  arrived.  I  took 
good  care  not  to  mention  this  to  Monsieur  Lames- 
sine. 

I  at  first  wished  to  go  to  the  ball  as  Nausicaa, 
my  father  having  so  advised  me;  but  Claudius 
Popelin,  who  was  also  invited,  told  me  that  he  was 
going  as  Vercingetorix,  as  he  resembled  him,  and 
that  I  must  go  as  Velleda,  and  he  drew  me  such  a 
pretty  and  simple  costume  that  I  finally  selected  it. 

All  artistic  and  literary  Paris  was  to  be  present 
at  Alexandre  Weill's  ball;  the  journals  all  spoke  of 
it,  and  I  was  very  proud  at  having  been  invited. 
Monsieur  Alexandre  Weill  lived  in  the  Faubourg 
St.  Honore.  He  was  an  Alsatian,  and,  having  been 
educated  in  Germany,  he  had  at  first  remained  in 
that  country,  whence  he  wrote  for  the  jour- 
nals and  Socialist  reviews,  of  Leipsic,  Cologne  and 
Stuttgart,  Francophiles  at  that  time!  Alexandre 
Dumas  having  met  him  in  Frankfort,  during  one 
of  his  numerous  travels,  had  persuaded  him  to  live 

[48] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

in  Paris,  where  he  soon  made  himself  a  position  in 
Parisian  journalism.  He  wrote  for  the  Gazette 
de  France,  then  very  eclectic,  and,  being  rich  by 
his  wife,  one  of  the  most  fashionable  milliners  in 
Paris,  he  entertained  a  great  deal  and  very  hand- 
somely. 

I  wore  Velleda's  long  white  robe,  and,  as  my 
father  had  never  allowed  me  to  wear  corsets,  I  was 
quite  at  my  ease  in  a  garment  whose  folds  were 
simply  held  about  the  waist  by  a  narrow  gold  belt, 
from  which  hung  a  gilded  sickle.  My  hair,  of  dark 
chestnut  colour,  tinged  with  red,  fell  down  un- 
bound, and  I  wore  a  crown  of  mistletoe.  My  arms, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  were  bare  up  to  the 
shoulder,  for,  at  that  time,  even  at  balls,  they  wore 
small  sleeves.  My  husband  consented  to  wear  a 
blouse,  Monsieur  Weill  kindly  dressing  him  in  it. 
But  I  was  very  much  confused  when  the  master 
of  the  house,  taking  me  by  the  hand,  fairly 
dragged  me  into  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room, 
crying  out: 

"  Velleda !  " 

Vercingetorix  was  already  there,  and  he  and  a 
number  of  artists,  whom  he  presented  to  me,  gath- 
ered round  me,  and  complimented  me  very  warmly 
for  having  chosen  a  costume  so  well  suited  to  my 
type. 

[49] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


I  looked  for  Madame  Weill,  to  whom  I  had  yet 
not  been  able  to  speak,  and  whom  I  only  knew 
slightly  from  having  once  made  her  a  short  visit, 
and  I  was,  besides,  impatient  to  get  free  from  the 
circle  that  surrounded  me,  and  where  I  received  too 
many  compliments  about  my  arms.  Thanks  to 
Vercingetorix,  whose  help  I  claimed,  I  escaped  from 
the  serried  crowd  of  painters.  I  first  found  Alex- 
andre Weill,  who  pointed  me  out  to  a  little  old 
man,  to  whom  he  said,  as  I  approached  them,  leav- 
ing Vercingetorix's  arm: 

"  Shall  I  introduce  you?  " 

"  No,  no,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  am 
afraid  of  her ! " 

"  Afraid  of  me,  Monsieur,"  I  said,  laughing. 
"Why?" 

And  then  Monsieur  Weill  introduced  .  .  .  Mey- 
erbeer to  me! 

I  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Meyerbeer,  and 
I  told  him  so.  He  was  embarrassed  by  his  accent, 
and  was  both  timid  and  reserved,  and  he  said  to 
me,  hesitatingly,  that  I  should  not  say  such  things 
to  him.  They  were  too  complimentary,  coming 
from  me.  Alexandre  Weill  laughed  and  exclaimed : 
"  Love  at  first  sight !  Love  at  first  sight !  "  Mey- 
erbeer hurried  away. 

"  You  see,"  Alexandre  Weill  said  to  me,  "  when 

[50] 


MY  FURTHER  LIFE  IN  PARIS 

you  entered  the  room,  he  was  thunderstruck,  for 
he  is  even  a  greater  poet  than  he  is  a  great  musi- 
cian, and  he  has  thought  for  a  long  time  of  crea- 
ting the  role  of  Velleda,  and  when  he  saw  you,  he 
came  and  said  to  me,  as  though  frightened : 

"  '  She  will  make  me  forget  my  Seleka !  I  am 
too  old  to  fall  in  love  with  a  new  face,  even  in  Art. 
I  never  wish  to  see  that  woman  again.'  " 

"  Let  us  find  him,"  I  said.  "  He  must  resusci- 
tate Velleda." 

Meyerbeer  had  disappeared. 

Every  morning  after  the  ball,  I  received,  during 
many  months,  a  little  bouquet  of  violets,  and  with 
the  first  one  these  simple  words : 


a 


A  tender  souvenir  to  Velleda. 


"  Meyerbeer." 

Later  he  sent  me  a  box  for  the  first  performance 
of  the  Pardon  de  Ploermel,  but  I  never  saw  him 
again. 


[51] 


CHAPTER    IV 


MY    CONTACT    WITH    POLITICS 


HOLITICS  were  a  burning  question  between 
those  who  took  the  oath  of  allegiance  to 
the  Empire  and  those  who  refused  to  take  it.  In 
June,  when  the  elections  were  to  take  place,  a  com- 
mittee of  old  Republicans  decided  to  make  an  ap- 
peal to  the  Parisians  with  regard  to  the  oath- 
taking,  and  drew  up  a  list  of  nine  candidates  faith- 
ful to  the  principle  of  not  taking  the  oath. 

Monsieur  Nefftzer,  editor  of  la  Presse,  and  Mon- 
sieur Havin,  manager  of  Le  Siecle,  offered  a  seat 
to  Emile  Ollivier,  son  of  Demosthene  Ollivier,  the 
old  Republican  and  exile  of  1848.  This  excited  us 
immensely.  Emile  Ollivier,  through  his  father's 
influence,  who  enjoyed  great  popularity  in  the 
South,  had  been  made  commissary  of  the  Govern- 
ment at  Marseilles  by  Ledru-Rollin.  Although, 
since  those  days,  Emile  Ollivier  had  endeavoured 
to  make  a  high  position  for  himself,  he  was,  at 
that  time,  at  very  low  mark.  All  parties  com- 
plained of  him,  and  he  only  escaped  from  the  ef- 
fects of  his  conduct  by  the  most  precocious  du- 
plicity.    Held  in  disgrace  as  prefect,  he  did  not 

[52] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

leave  his  position  until  ruined  by  Louis  Napoleon. 
The  compromise  he  accepted  in  1857,  though  in 
contradiction  to  his  birth,  was  not  so  as  regarded 
his  character.  Darinion,  Proudhon's  secretary,  and 
a  contributor  to  La  Presse,  was  chosen  by  Nefftzer 
as  twin  candidate  with  Emile  Ollivier. 

The  great  electoral  committee,  composed  of  vet- 
erans of  1848,  advocated  the  non-taking  of  the 
oath,  declaring  that  no  one  could  condemn  Louis 
Napoleon  for  the  violation  of  his  oath,  except  on 
condition  of  not  admitting  that  his  own  could  be 
violated.  Cavaignac,  Hippolyte  Carnot,  Garnier- 
Pages,  Arnaud  d'Ariege,  Carbon,  Charton,  Goud- 
chaux,  Laurent-Pichat,  Eugene  Pelletau,  Jean 
Reynaud,  Jules  Simon,  and  Vacherot  signed  the 
manifestation  to  the  Parisians. 

Darimon  and,  naturally,  Emile  Ollivier,  used  as 
their  defence  the  volume  Proudhon  had  published 
after  the  Second  of  December — La  Revolution  So- 
ciale  demontree  par  le  Coup-d'Etat — in  which  the 
great  polemist  declared  "  that  the  partisans  of  Le- 
gitimacy could  refuse  to  take  the  oath,  because,  in 
their  case,  the  Feudal  Oath  bound  with  a  unilateral 
and  personal  bond  the  one  who  took  the  oath  to 
the  one  who  accepted  it." 

In  1857,  Proudhon  continued  his  demoralizing 
campaign.     "  I  confess,"  he  said,  "  that  I  do  not 

[53] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


understand  that  a  Republican  should  have  so  many 
scruples,  and  Messrs.  Cavaignac's  and  Carnot's  ar- 
guments have  not  convinced  me.  The  oath,  for  a 
Republican,  is  merely  the  recognition  of  the  peo- 
ple's sovereignty  in  the  person  of  the  Head  of 
State,  and  consequently  a  synallagmatic  contract." 
Proudhon  decided  that  Republicans  could  perfect- 
ly well  take  the  oath. 

However,  no  one,  not  even  himself,  dared  to  be 
the  first  to  assume  the  shame  of  this  oath.  Mes- 
sieurs Emile  Ollivier  and  Darimon,  under  Proud- 
hon's  orders,  did  not  have  a  moment's  hesitation. 

Monsieur  Emile  Ollivier's  father,  who  had  been 
dragged  from  prison  to  prison  at  the  time  of  the 
"  Second  of  December,"  and  designated  to  be  de- 
ported, was  still  in  exile  at  Florence,  after  having 
been  expelled  from  Nice,  before  its  annexation,  at 
the  demand  of  the  French  Government.  But  Emile 
Ollivier  felt  so  little  indignation  at  the  Coup-d'Etat 
and  its  crimes,  that  he  one  day  called  it  "  an  event 
of  providential  significance." 

The  oath-taker  surrounded  himself  with  young 
men,  ambitious  like  himself,  and  impatient  to  play 
a  role.  As  soon  as  he  was  a  Deputy  he  became  their 
head;  all  of  them  had  not  his  duplicity,  but  they 
all  suffered  from  his  dangerous  influence.  People 
commenced  to  talk  of  these  young  men,  new  up- 

[54]' 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

starts  of  political  life,  and  to  call  them  "  the  little 
Olliviers."  By  a  second  polling,  Emile  Ollivier 
became  the  first  oath-taking  Deputy  of  Paris. 
Messrs.  Darimon  and  Henon,  of  Lyons,  alone  kept 
him  company. 

General  Cavaignac,  Hippolyte  Carnot,  and 
Goudchaux,  also  elected,  refused  to  take  the  oath. 
Monsieur  Emile  Ollivier,  promised  already,  bear- 
ing "  a  light  heart,"*  to  uphold  the  Empire  in  the 
discussions  that  would  take  place  during  the 
elections. 

Proudhon  took  it  upon  himself  to  do  all  the 
arguing  in  favour  of  the  oath,  and  apropos  of  the 
indignation  roused  against  those  who  took  it. 
"  He  has  made  perjury  pardonable,"  we  said 
among  our  party. 

The  small  circle  of  philosophers,  writers,  and 
poets  in  which  I  lived  were  in  despair  at  the  state 
of  moral  decay  into  which  we  had  fallen.  Those 
in  exile  wrote  to  their  friends :  "  What  are  you 
doing?  Take  care!  It  is  criminal  to  absolve,  by 
an  identical  act,  lies  and  perjury." 

Monsieur  Thiers  said: 


*  Referring  to  Emile  Ollivier's  famous  speech  in  1870,  when 
he  said  he  began  the  war  with  Germany  "  with  a  light  heart." 
— Translator's  note. 

[55] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  It  is  impossible  to  submit  to  the  oath  imposed 
upon  us  by  the  Empire.  It  is  a  vexatious  measure 
thrust  on  the  vanquished  by  the  perjurer." 

My  father  wrote  to  me :  "  There  is  gangrene  in 
the  hearts  of  the  Republicans,  and  it  will  destroy 
them.  No  one  thinks  of  the  Republic  and  its  prin- 
ciples. Was  George  Sand  right  when  she  said, 
disillusioned,  '  Will  the  Republic,  after  all,  be  only 
a  party  ?  '  " 

One  of  the  foremost  among  the  corrupters  of 
the  Republic  was  Monsieur  de  Morny,  who  for  a 
short  time  left  the  Presidency  of  the  Corps  Legis- 
latif,  but  who  soon  resumed  the  position.  Scepti- 
cal, eclectic,  a  lettered  Parisian,  witty,  elegant,  and 
a  fascinating  man,  feigning  discontent  and  pre- 
tending to  be  a  lover  of  liberty,  he  accused  the 
"  reactionary  "  party  and  the  "  clericals  "  of  de- 
ceiving the  Emperor,  kl  whose  instincts  were  lib- 
eral." He  hypnotized  consciences  and,  when  neces- 
sary, corrupted  men's  hearts. 

One  evening,  after  Beranger's  death,  I  went  to 
a  meeting  of  the  "  Union  des  Poetes,"  where  Emile 
Richebourg  was  to  eulogize  the  great  song-writer. 
In  spite  of  Beranger's  severe  criticism  of  my  po- 
etry, I  much  regretted  his  death,  for  I  thought  that 
should  I  have,  in  the  future,  need  of  sincere  advice, 

[56] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

I    could    have    gone    to    him    to    seek    it,    had    he 
lived. 

Richebourg  spoke  of  Beranger  with  such  feel- 
ing, dwelling  on  his  good  nature  in  such  touching 
terms  that  he  made  an  indelible  impression  on  our 
hearts;  especially  when  he  revealed  to  us  his  ex- 
traordinary kindness.  The  multiplicity  of  his 
charitable  acts  when  compared  with  his  meagre  re- 
sources was  almost  miraculous.  He  deprived  him- 
self even  of  food  in  order  to  give  to  others,  and 
Richebourg  inspired  us  with  such  an  affection  for 
the  dear,  old  man  that  the  memory  of  it  still  abides 
with  me. 

There  was  a  great  difference  in  the  tone  of  the 
meetings  of  the  "  Union  des  Poetes."  Another,  the 
last  one  to  which  I  went,  towards  the  end  of  the 
year,  was  curiously  interesting.  They  discussed  at 
length  two  volumes  of  poems  that  created  great 
excitement,  for  very  contrary  reasons:  Les  Fleurs 
du  Mai  and  Denise. 

Aurelien  Scholl,  generally  so  full  of  banter  in 
his  articles  and  in  his  books,  had  written  in  Denise 
the  most  simple,  the  most  real  work  possible  to 
imagine,  although  he  pretended  not  to  believe  that 
it  was  a  success.  Denise  was  most  warmly  wel- 
comed by  high-minded  persons,  glad  to  be  re- 
freshed "  by  something  healthy." 

[57] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


How  often,  and  at  how  many  different  periods, 
have  I  heard  my  contemporaries  sum  up  their  im- 
pressions, when  some  high-toned  book  appeared,  in 
these  words :  "It  is,  indeed,  quite  time  that  intel- 
lectual morality  should  be  aroused,  when  we  look 
at  what  is  taking  place  around  us."  Which  has 
made  me  ask  myself  sometimes :  "  Does  not  about 
the  same  thing  always  take  place?  "  Denise,  it  is 
true,  was  unfaithful  to  her  husband,  but  she  had 
been  abandoned,  and  her  unfaithfulness  was  told 
in  such  noble  verse,  so  full  of  sentiment  and  of 
ideality ! 

As  to  Baudelaire,  the  poems  quoted  by  his  de- 
fenders, eminently  beautiful  though  they  were, 
could  not,  in  our  eyes,  wash  away  the  filth  of  cer- 
tain others.  The  six  poems  which,  it  will  be  re- 
membered, were  forbidden  to  appear  in  the  future 
editions  inspired  us  with  great  disgust,  for  he 
braved  our  uprightness,  indeed,  too  much  in  certain 
French  words,  and  aroused  strong  and  praisewor- 
thy indignation. 

What  was  taking  place  that  year  was  curi- 
ous. Here  were  we,  who  talked  so  much  about 
"  Imperial  corruption,"  approving  the  proceedings 
against  Les  Fleurs  du  Mai,  and  disapproving  the 
prudery  of  Napoleon  Ill's  magistrates.  It  is  true 
that  it  was  on  account  of  the  accusations  brought 

[58] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

against  Madame  Bovary,  and  because  Gustave 
Flaubert,  belonging  to  the  lineage  of  Rabelais  and 
of  Montaigne,  should  be  called  before  the  courts, 
like  Baudelaire,  for  immorality!  My  father,  who 
had  read  Madame  Bovary  in  the  Revue  de  Paris, 
wrote  me  the  most  amusing  letters,  after  Monsieur 
Pinard's,  the  Imperial  lawyer's,  summing  up,  who 
grew  grandiloquently  indignant  at  the  "  lascivi- 
ous "  passages  in  Madame  Bovary.  The  "  where- 
as "  so  often  repeated  in  this  celebrated  verdict 
inspired  my  father  with  writing  verses,  where  the 
words  "  lascifs  "  and  "  poncifs  "  were  repeated  in 
the  most  amusing  fashion.  I  will  recall  one 
"  whereas  " : 

"  Whereas  it  is  not  permitted  to  reproduce  the 
facts,  words,  and  gestures  of  people's  misconduct, 
etc., 

"  Because  it  would  lead  to  a  realism  that  would 
be  a  negation  of  all  that  is  beautiful  and  good ; 
but,  however,  as  the  book  of  which  Flaubert  is  the 
author  is  a  work  which  appears  to  have  been  seri- 
ously compiled  from  a  literary  point  of  view,  and, 
as  the  said  Flaubert  declares  his  respect  for  good 
conduct,  and  all  that  is  connected  with  religious 
morality,  etc. 

"  We  acquit  him  of  the  accusation  brought 
against  him." 

5  [59] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


My  father  was  not  the  only  one  who  thought 
this  "  whereas  "  most  laughable,  and  he  predicted 
the  highest  destiny  to  the  mediocrity  and  preten- 
tion of  Monsieur  Pinard,  Imperial  lawyer.  He  be- 
come a  Minister! 

The  new  Louvre,  inaugurated  that  year,  was  a 
fairy  palace  to  my  little  Alice.  Going  to  and 
coming  from  the  Tuileries,  I  always  passed  through 
the  inside  courts,  and  all  the  queens,  all  the  fairies 
of  my  stories,  inhabited  their  special  pavilion, 
about  which  my  little  Alice  never  made  a  mistake. 
"  Good-morning,  pretty  fairy ;  good-morning, 
good  queen;  good-morning,  Grecian  lady."  Each 
one  received  her  daily  salutation. 

I  heard  Bismarck's  name  for  the  first  time  at  a 
dinner  given  by  Alexandre  Weill,  who  had  known 
him  in  Frankfort.  He  spoke  warmly  of  him,  but 
described  him  as  a  manner  of  unlicked  cub  in  ap- 
pearance, although  possessing  extraordinary  polit- 
ical artfulness,  and  as  using  his  grossness  as  a 
means  and  end  to  his  cleverness. 

"  He  is  a  gentleman  farmer  in  the  most  brutal 
sense  of  the  word,"  said  Weill,  "  born  to  live  in 
forests."  His  father  had  destined  him  to  a  Gov- 
ernmental position,  in  order  to  add  to  the  chance 
revenues   of   agriculture   the   certainty   of   a   fixed 

[60] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 


salary.  He  is  a  clannish  chief  and  he  would  never 
have  been  a  good  administrator,  for  he  is  "  incapa- 
ble of  obedience."  Made  Deputy  in  1847,  he 
strongly  blamed  the  King  for  having  yielded  to 
the  people's  threats  by  granting  them  a  Constitu- 
tion. He  was,  moreover,  among  the  first  to  help 
him  in  taking  it  back.  "  I  have  seen  Bismarck," 
added  Weill,  "  mount  the  tribune  as  though  it 
were  a  cavalry  horse  ready  for  a  charge.  He  thun- 
dered out  his  rabid  Conservator's  insults  with  ex- 
traordinary violence,  speaking  of  sabre-cutting 
politics,  of  absolute  authority,  of  the  gallows! 
When  the  dream  of  German  unity  was  evoked  be- 
fore him,  he  replied,  '  that  the  whole  of  Germany 
was  not  worth  Prussian  nationality.' 

"  When  the  Parliament  of  Frankfort,"  contin- 
ued Weill,  "  offered  the  Imperial  Crown  to  Fred- 
erick William,  Bismarck  implored  the  King  not  to 
accept  a  proposal  made  by  an  assembly  of  mad 
rebels,"  in  recognition  of  which  Frederick  William 
appointed  him,  in  1851,  as  his  representative  at 
the  Diet  of  Frankfort,  renovated  and  placed  on 
a  more  solid  basis.  There  he  ostensibly  defended 
Austria,  the  nation  he  hated  the  most  intensely," 
Weill  confided  to  us.  "  He  wishes,"  continued  our 
host,  "  an  alliance  with  France."  And  he  read  a 
memoir  to  us,  after  dinner,  that  treated  of  politics 

[61] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


in  general,  copied  from  an  autograph  manuscript 
of  Monsieur  de  Bismarck,  and  in  which  there  were 
several  sentences,  the  exact  words  of  which  I  can 
not  guarantee,  but  I  can  certainly  certify  to  the 
sense  of  what  was  therein  expressed: 

"  France  should  keep  open  for  herself  every  pos- 
sibility of  an  alliance  with  Russia,  and  with  that 
in  view,  should  maintain  amicable  relations  with 
Prussia.  France  has  no  interest  to  ally  herself  with 
Austria,  old,  even  to  decrepitude,  nor  with  any  of 
the  small  German  states,  which  latter  fact  would 
make  Prussia  her  bitterest  enemy.  A  friendship 
with  Prussia,  a  growing  and  strong  state,  would 
give  France  Continental  support,  would  force  Aus- 
tria to  prudence,  and  would  greatly  facilitate  an 
alliance  with  Russia." 

"  I  like  Bismarck,"  said  Weill,  finally.  "  We 
have  become  quite  intimate  through  a  common 
friend,  but  I  love  France,  and  I  always  remember 
with  pain  something  said  by  that  terrible  man, 
whom  one  must  fear,  and  which  was  repeated  to 
me  by  my  friend :  '  Before  France,  which  is  Revo- 
lution incarnate,  destroys  herself  with  her  own 
revolutions,  she  will,  perhaps,  have  to  do  with  Ger- 
many.' Bismarck  is  such  a  selfish  partisan  that 
one  cannot  sufficiently  beware  of  him  in  everything 
and  always.     He  would  betray  any  contract,  any 

[62] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

promise,  any  alliance,  for  Prussia,  his  sole  passion! 
At  present  he  desires  German  unity,  being  certain 
now  that  Prussia  will  absorb  it." 

Books  poured  in  at  the  office  of  La  Revue  Philo- 
sophique.  Madame  Fauvety  and  I  took  our  share, 
and  after  reading  them,  wrote  in  return  short  criti- 
cisms about  them  for  Monsieur  Fauvety,  the  editor. 
One  day,  when  I  brought  my  short  tribute  on  the 
Memoires  de  Sophie  Arnould,  by  the  de  Goncourts, 
my  enemy,  Madame  d'Hericourt,  who  was  never 
disarmed  in  my  favour,  addressed  me  in  these 
terms : 

"  I  will  bet  that  you  believe  in  the  Memoires  de 
Sophie  Arnould.  Well,  I  can  tell  you,  simple  child, 
that  they  are  apocryphal  from  first  to  last." 

She  had  a  wonderful  story  to  relate  on  the  sub- 
ject, which  only  made  people  smile,  knowing  the 
particular  aversion  in  which  she  held  Jules  de  Gon- 
court  on  account  of  a  malicious  speech  he  once 
made  on  the  rather  thick  mustache  that  shaded  her 
lip :  "  Her  style  has  the  strength  of  a  bearded 
man's,"  he  had  said  to  a  friend  who  was  praising 
one  of  Madame  Jenny  d'Hericourt's  articles,  a 
really  remarkable  article  on  "  antinomies." 

Theodore  de  Bouville's  most  amusing  Odes  Fu- 
nambulesques   had  delighted   me.      Madame  Fau- 

[63] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


vety,  who  gave  me  lessons  in  diction,  made  me  read 
some  of  it  to  the  "  Philosophers,"  one  evening,  "  to 
see  if  they  knew  how  to  laugh,"  as  she  said,  and 
I  had  quite  a  triumph.  The  "  Philosophers  "  did 
know  how  to  laugh.  What  a  discovery,  to  be  sure! 
"  A  real  antinomy  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

From  that  time  the  whole  tone  of  these  little 
meetings  changed.  They  were  just  as  interesting 
as  ever,  but  with  occasional  glimpses  of  gaiety, 
which  Madame  Fauvety  cleverly  brought  about, 
aided  by  myself  and  others.  Madame  d'Hericourt 
grew  more  and  more  irritated,  accusing  me  of  the 
strange  things  that  took  place  at  La  Revue  Philo- 
sophique. 

"  Auguste  Comte  has  just  died,"  my  husband 
announced  to  me  one  evening.  "  He  looks  majestic 
in  death.  I  have  just  seen  him.  Pierre  Lafitte 
is  his  executor.  He  has  left  some  debts,  which  we, 
his  disciples,  will  pay,  and  his  apartment  in  the 
Rue  Monsieur-le-Prince  is  to  be  kept  sacredly  as 
our  place  of  meeting." 

"  Sacredly  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  Well,  yes,  sacredly  is  what  I  meant  to  say, 
it  seems  to  me." 

"  Not  fitted  to  your  mouth  and  concerning  Au- 
guste Comte." 

Madame  d'Hericourt  arrived  one  evening  at  the 

[64] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

"  Philosophers,"  very  proud  to  be  able  to  give  us 
some  unknown  details  on  Blandine  Liszt's  mar- 
riage, about  which  all  Paris  had  talked  so  much. 
Monsieur  Jules  Grevy,  whom  she  knew,  and  who 
was  a  great  friend  of  the  Comtesse  d'Agoult's 
(Daniel  Stern),  the  "  unknown  "  mother  of  Blan- 
dine, had  told  her  all  about  it. 

"  Their  meeting,"  Madame  d'Hericourt  told  us, 
"  took  place  in  the  most  original  and  romantic  man- 
ner, during  some  travels  of  Madame  d'Agoult  and 
her  daughter  in  Italy.  Emile  Ollivier,  being  made 
Deputy,  went  to  explain  to  his  father,  exiled  at 
Florence,  why  he  had  taken  oath  to  the  Empire, 
and  Monsieur  Grevy  says  that  Demosthene  Ollivier, 
the  exile,  the  old  Republican  of  the  "  Montagne  " 
of  1848,  had  approved  it.  But  to  return  to  our 
romance,"  Madame  d'Hericourt  continued. 

"  One  day,  in  a  museum,  some  common  friends 
of  Ollivier  and  of  Madame  d'Agoult  introduced 
Ollivier  to  Blandine,  accompanied  there  by  a  maid. 
As  Ollivier  had  pleased  the  young  girl  at  once," 
added  the  gossip,  "  by  his  fascinating  conversation 
and  by  his  practical  ideas  of  life,  a  contrast  that 
would  naturally  charm  Liszt's  and  Madame 
d'Agoult's  daughter,  Blandine,  under  different 
pretexts,  delayed  his  introduction  to  her  mother, 
and  met  Emile  Ollivier  several  times  as  though  by 

[65] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


chance.  To  be  brief,  Ollivier  having  heard  that 
Madame  d'Agoult  would  give  her  daughter  a 
dowry  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  offered 
himself,  and  the  two  young  people  were  betrothed 
before  the  new  oath-taking  Deputy  had  made  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult's  acquaintance. 

"  Daniel  Stern,  the  authoress  of  La  Revolution 
de  1848,  was  only  half  pleased  at  the  match.  She 
was  on  very  good  terms  with  all  the  exiles  and 
was  the  friend  of  many  of  those  who  had  refused 
to  take  the  oath,  including  Grevy  and  Hippolyte 
Carnot." 

This  union  greatly  annoyed  all  the  intimate 
friends  of  the  salon  of  the  Rue  de  Presbourg  from 
every  point  of  view.  "  Blandine  Liszt,  who  is  very 
handsome  and  very  intelligent,  will  be  a  great  ad- 
dition to  the  sudden  fortune  and  self -infatuation 
of  this  ambitious  man,"  Grevy  had  said  to  Madame 
d'Hericourt.  Monsieur  Jules  Grevy,  a  Republican 
loyally  attached  to  his  principles,  was  distressed 
at  seeing  so  many  rising  young  political  men  ready 
to  embrace  all  compromises  with  an  easy-going  con- 
science that  revolted  him. 

All  the  old  stories  about  Liszt  and  the  Comtesse 
d'Agoult,  of  George  Sand,  and  the  revelations  con- 
tained in  Horace  and  Nelida,  were  revived  apropos 
of  Blandine  Liszt's  and  Emile  Ollivier's  marriage, 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

as  were,  at  the  time  of  de  Musset's  death,  George 
Sand's  adventures  and  the  gossip  anent  the  jour- 
ney to  Venice. 

Madame  d'Hericourt,  naturally  spiteful  and 
fond  of  gossip,  spared  us  none  that  evening.  She 
embellished  and  amplified,  knew  all  about  things 
from  a  surer  source  than  any  one  else.  Fiercely 
virtuous,  having  suffered  few  temptations,  the 
strong-minded  Jenny  grew  retrospectively  indig- 
nant. 

"  Superior  women  should  be  virtuous,"  said  Ma- 
dame d'Hericourt,  "  or  else  hide  their  weaknesses 
jealously,  while  on  the  contrary  they  display  them, 
and  force  other  superior  women  to  defend  them 
against  their  own  convictions,  for  the  honour  of 
the  sex,  or  else  to  condemn  them,  for  the  greater 
amusement  of  men." 

"  I  find  the  little  that  George  Sand  has  written 
apropos  of  de  Musset  most  admirable,  and  I  hope 
that  soon  she  will  tell  us  the  whole  story,"  said 
Madame  Fauvety.  "  Accused  as  she  has  been,  and 
as  she  is,  she  has  the  right  to  plead  her  own  cause. 
In  her  Venice  adventure  I  can  really  only  see  the 
extreme  goodness  of  a  generous  heart,  devoting 
itself  to  saving  a  man  from  being  ruined  by  vice. 
We  Parisians  all  know  with  what  contempt  de  Mus- 
set   treated    women,    the    great    Rachel    included! 

[67] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Madame  Sand  literally  tried  to  wrest  him  from  the 
very  lowest  haunts.  She  has  an  absolute  right, 
nay,  even  a  womanly  duty,  to  prove  she  did  not 
'  torture  de  Musset.'  When  one  thinks  of  the 
cruelty  shown  to  George  Sand  nowadays,"  Ma- 
dame Fauvety  continued,  "  and  of  the  indulgence 
with  which  Madame  de  Stael  was  treated,  who  was 
unfaithful  to  Benjamin-Constant  with  Camille 
Jordan,  and  to  the  latter  with  her  son's  tutor,  it  is 
enough  to  make  one  aghast.  In  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  the  gallantries  of  women 
of  nobility  were  easily  pardoned.  Is  not  Maurice 
de  Saxe's  granddaughter  a  woman  of  rank?  She 
is  doubly  so  by  birth  and  by  letters.  Moreover,  I 
think  that  women  like  Madame  de  Stael,  George 
Sand,  and  the  Comtesse  d'Agoult,  should  be  re- 
garded as  belonging  to  a  superior  sex,  which  has 
the  right  to  assume  certain  liberties  of  conduct 
that  men  so  easily  allow  themselves,"  Madame  Fau- 
vety added,  putting  Madame  d'Hericourt  quite  be- 
side herself,  which  was,  perhaps,  her  aim. 

Madame  Fauvety  first  heard  of  Rachel's  death 
from  me. 

"  May  Jehovah  receive  her  soul,"  she  said,  "  and 
may  all  her  jealousies  and  bitterness  be  forgiven!  " 

We  have  taken  Canton,  with  the  English,  as  we 
took  Sebastopol. 

[68] 


GEORGE  SAND. 

From  an  engraving  by  Nargeot. 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

On  the  evening  of  the  14th  of  January  we  left 
home,  after  dinner,  to  make  some  purchases  in  the 
galleries  of  the  Palais-Royal,  with  one  of  my  hus- 
band's Sicilian  friends,  who  called  himself  a  rela- 
tion. We  were  crossing  the  square  of  the  Palais- 
Royal  a  little  before  half  past  eight  o'clock,  when 
I  was  struck  by  the  agitation  that  reigned  at 
Prince  Napoleon's  residence. 

He  was  holding  a  reception,  it  was  true;  but 
men  in  full-dress  uniforms  drove  up  in  cabs,  others 
without  their  overcoats  hailed  the  first  passing  vehi- 
cle. Mounted  guards  galloped  into  the  court-yard. 
A  crowd  gathered  on  the  Square.  We  caught  the 
echo  of  some  words :  "  An  attempt  against  the  Sov- 
ereigns' lives !  Bombs  thrown  at  the  Emperor  and 
Empress  at  the  opera."  Everybody  said  they  had 
heard  the  explosion  of  the  bombs. 

Greater  excitement  arose  when  Prince  Napoleon 
left  his  guests,  got  into  a  carriage,  escorted  by  cav- 
alry, and  went  to  the  opera. 

The  report  soon  spread  that  the  Imperial  car- 
riage was  completely  shattered  to  bits,  but  that 
neither  the  Emperor  nor  Empress  were  injured. 
The  aide-de-camp,  the  coachman,  and  footman  were 
wounded,  and  a  horse  killed.  We  were  exchang- 
ing in  a  whisper  some  rather  anti-Imperialist  re- 
marks, when  we  felt  ourselves  looked  at  suspicious- 

[69] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


ly,  and  suddenly  two  policemen  seized  our  relation 
by  his  coat  collar. 

"  The  attempt  was  made  by  Italians,"  they  cried, 
"  and  here  is  one  whose  accent  betrays  him ;  come 
along  with  us  to  the  police  station !" 

Monsieur  Lamessine  slipped  quickly  away 
through  the  crowd,  leaving  his  friend  and  rela- 
tion unceremoniously,  who  called  to  him  to  help 
him  by  his  name.  Separated  from  them  both,  by 
a  movement  of  the  crowd,  I  decided  to  return 
home. 

The  next  morning  the  police  searched  our  apart- 
ment, but  my  husband  easily  proved  that  his  rela- 
tion, who  had  arrived  that  morning  from  Sicily, 
had  come  to  be  present  at  a  wedding  that  was  to 
take  place  the  next  day,  and  apropos  of  which  we 
had  gone  to  make  some  purchases  at  the  Palais- 
Royal.  They  set  our  cousin  at  liberty  and  left  us 
in  peace. 

The  four  authors  of  the  attempt — Orsini,  Ru- 
dio,  Pieri,  and  Gomez — were  arrested;  all  Paris 
was  wild  for  details.  It  was  said  that  Felix  Orsini, 
the  instigator  of  the  plot,  was  a  former  friend  of 
Mazzini,  and  that  he  had  escaped  from  the  Aus- 
trian prisons  in  an  extraordinary  way.  His  one 
thought  was  to  kill  Napoleon  III,  whom  he  be- 
lieved responsible  for  all  his  country's  misfortunes. 

[70] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 


Masscl,  the  great  singer,  was  giving  his  last 
performance,  for  his  own  benefit,  at  the  opera,  that 
night.  The  Parisians,  after  the  manner  of  Pari- 
sians, commented  upon  the  aptness  of  the  pro- 
gramme at  the  Palais-Royal  Theatre,  when  Ma- 
dame Arnould-Plessis  was  to  play  de  Musset's 
Quitte  pour  la  Peur,  just  when  the  news  of  the 
attempt  on  the  Emperor's  life  was  heard,  and  Du- 
prey,  who  had  not  sung  for  a  long  time,  except  at 
his  own  house,  was  also  to  have  sung  Beranger's 
songs  in  praise  of  the  Emperor  that  evening. 

Perquisitions  and  arrests  were  made  everywhere. 
My  husband  kept  quietly  at  home  and  advised  his 
friend  to  leave  for  Sicily  as  soon  as  the  wedding 
was  over,  which  he  did. 

La  Revue  de  Paris  was  suppressed,  other  jour- 
nals were  threatened  and  suspended. 

The  opening  of  the  Session,  when  the  first  oath- 
takers  appeared,  excited  public  opinion  in  a  con- 
trary way.  The  entrance  of  Messrs.  Emile  Olli- 
vier,  Darimon,  and  Henon  to  the  Corps  Legislatif 
gave  birth  to  a  new  programme,  and  confirmed  the 
scission  of  the  Republican  party.  Monsieur  de 
Girardin,  with  his  habitual  precision,  formulated 
this  programme  in  an  article  entitled  The  Consti- 
tutional Press. 

Our  indignation  on  reading  this  article  cannot 

[71] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


be  described.  When  people  met,  they  accosted  one 
another  with  angry  gestures.  "  Have  you  read 
it?  "  And  when  they  wrote  to  each  other,  they 
underlined  and  put  enormous  interrogation  points 
after  the  question:  "What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Monsieur  de  Girardin  ended  his  article  with  these 
words :  "  Constitutional  opposition  forms  the  pro- 
gramme of  a  new  political  endeavour,  which  will 
discard  all  the  old  passions,  together  with  all  the 
old  bitter  feeling,  in  order  to  battle  solely  against 
new  ideas  and  prejudices." 

"  It  is  your  terrible  Proudhon,"  I  wrote  my 
father,  "  who  has  made  such  a  monstrous  thing 
possible.  What  do  you  think  of  this  rallying 
motto  of  perjurers,  the  very  words  of  which  clash 
together :  *  The  Empire  with  Liberty  '  ?  "  A  line 
of  interrogation  marks  followed  my  question. 

My  father  was  overwhelmed.  "  Were  there 
really  Republicans  ready  to  accept  and  to  defend 
the  Imperial  Constitution?  It  was  the  climax  of 
things !  The  finishing  touch,  that  the  man  who 
has  violated  his  own  oath  should  exact  that  others 
must  make  oath  to  him.  It  is  true  that  the  butcher 
of  the  Second  of  December  grants  us,  as  a  primal 
liberty,  the  right  to  butchery." 

Soon  the  half-sincere  ones,  who  had  taken  the 
first  steps  towards  the  cowardly  concessions  to  the 

[72] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 


Empire,  were  taught  a  bitter  lesson.  A  Senatus- 
Consulta  exacted  a  preliminary  oath  from  all  can- 
didates! To  be  dishonoured  without  the  certainty 
of  being  elected,  blackballed  although  an  oath- 
taker,  was  the  last  stroke !  We  thought  the  trick 
well  played.  Those  who  hesitated  would,  at  least, 
hesitate  a  little  more. 

The  Emperor  received  an  admirable  letter  from 
Orsini,  condemned  to  death,  that  produced  an  enor- 
mous sensation.  Orsini  implored  him,  the  ruler  of 
France,  to  liberate  his  country.  He  explained  to 
him  the  end  pursued  by  himself,  and  which 
would  be  pursued  by  many  Italians,  who  would 
try  to  kill  him  unless  he  freed  Italy  from  her 
bondage,  and  he  thereby  exonerated  French  de- 
mocracy from  any  suspicion  of  having  had  part 
in  the  conspiracy  or  the  attempt  against  the  Em- 
peror's life. 

After  Orsini's  letter,  after  this  cry  for  pity 
towards  his  country,  uttered  by  a  man  going  to 
the  scaffold — a  cry  that  Napoleon  III  had  heard 
and  which  he  answered  the  following  year — the 
Emperor  would  have  shown  foresight  had  he  re- 
pealed the  law  of  Public  Security,  which  Monsieur 
de  Morny  unwillingly  proposed.  This  law,  de- 
clared "  pitiable  "  by  those  even  who  upheld  it,  and 
"  baleful  "   by   those  who   fought  against   it,  was 

[73] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


certainly  one  of  the  greatest  errors  of  the  Em- 
pire. 

Monsieur  Baroche  gave  the  true  version  of  the 
situation,  after  the  reading  of  Monsieur  de  Mor- 
ny's  report :  "  We  are  well  aware  that  the  Repub- 
lican party  is  not  conspiring,  but  it  is  growing 
in  importance,  and  that  is  sufficient  to  make  us 
feel  obliged  to  attack  it." 

One  Senator  alone,  the  Marechal  de  MacMahon, 
voted  against  the  law  of  "  Public  Security  " ;  but, 
as  the  sittings  of  the  Senate  were  held  in  secret, 
we  only  heard  portions  of  his  speech,  and  what 
some  Senators  repeated  of  it.  MacMahon  accused 
the  Emperor's  advisers  of  urging  him  to  his  ruin. 
Something  he  had  said,  and  which  could  not  be 
published  in  the  papers,  was  much  talked  about: 
"  It  will  be  necessary  to  have  many  wars  with  for- 
eign countries  to  make  this  internal  war  forgotten." 

More  than  a  thousand  persons  were  arrested  in 
February  and  March,  after  the  law  was  voted. 

Partial  elections  took  place  on  the  27th  of  April 
and  10th  of  May.  Those  who  refused  to  take  the 
oath  could  not  stand  as  candidates  on  account  of 
the  obligatory  preliminary  oath  of  allegiance  to 
the  Empire.  Ollivier  made  the  campaign  in  favour 
of  Jules  Favre,  who  pleaded  Orsini's  case,  and  of 
Marie,    ex-member   of    the    Provisionary    Govern- 

[74] 


MY  CONTACT  WITH  POLITICS 

ment,  but  the  workmen  strongly  protested  against 
this  last  candidate,  remembering  how  severe  Marie 
had  shown  himself  towards  them  in  1848,  at  the 
time  of  the  closing  of  the  National  Workshops. 
Jules  Favre,  who  consented  to  take  the  oath,  was 
elected.  After  many  names  had  been  eliminated, 
Ernest  Picard,  Lionville's  son-in-law,  who  had 
pleaded  the  firemen's  cause,  on  the  15th  of  May, 
was  elected  after  polling.  The  "  Five  "  were  thus 
in  league. 


[75] 


CHAPTER    V 


I    PUBLISH    MY    BOOK 


m 


ADAME  FAUVETY  and  myself  were  much 
interested,  almost  at  the  same  time,  in  two 
plays  that  were  being  given  at  the  theatres,  and 
which  we  saw  a  few  days  apart,  one  at  the  end  of 
its  season,  the  other  when  it  had  just  begun:  Le 
Fils  Naturel,  by  the  younger  Dumas,  and  Les 
Meres  Repenties,  by  Felicien  Mallefille.  In  spite  of 
her  love  for  the  younger  Dumas's  plays,  Madame 
Fauvety  agreed  with  me,  that  Le  Fils  Naturel  was 
too  much  influenced  by  personal  feeling,  and  was 
also  at  once  revolting  and  obscure.  It  had,  more- 
over, but  a  partial  success,  while  Mallefille's  drama, 
which  was  very  bold  in  conception,  was  pronounced, 
in  spite  of  cabals  roused  against  it,  a  powerful 
work  and  one  of  high-toned  morality. 

A  friend  of  Mallefille's  whom  we  met  at  the 
theatre  told  us  a  curious  fact  about  him.  He  said 
Mallefille  would  be  one  of  the  geniuses  of  the  cen- 
tury were  he  not  blind  in  one  eye.  That  he  de- 
scribed superbly  all  that  he  could  see  from  the 
radius  of  one  eye,  but  as  soon  as  the  circle  was  en- 
larged and  he  could  not  see  beyond  it  he  could 

[76] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


write  nothing.  Mallefille  was  the  author  of  one 
volume  on  Don  Juan,  a  chef-d'oeuvre,  but  the  pro- 
posed succeeding  volumes  were  never  written. 

On  the  22d  of  April,  1858,  three  large  volumes 
by  Proudhon  were  published,  which,  it  was  said, 
would  prove  the  grandest  work  he  had  written  since 
1854:  La  Justice  dans  la  Revolution.  My  father 
wrote  me  to  send  them  to  him,  one  by  one,  as  soon 
as  I  had  finished  reading  them.  It  was  fortunate 
I  had  procured  these  at  once,  for,  on  the  very  night 
of  the  day  they  appeared,  orders  were  given  to  the 
police  to  seize  the  three  volumes.  Proudhon  en- 
deavoured in  vain,  in  all  the  courts,  to  have  the 
prohibition  raised,  but  he  did  not  succeed,  and  all 
that  he  obtained  was  to  be  sentenced  to  three  years' 
imprisonment,  from  which  he  escaped  by  taking 
refuge  with  our  neighbours,  the  Belgians. 

I  would  have  been  the  first  to  have  acknowl- 
edged the  master  qualities  of  which  Proudhon  gave 
evidence  in  his  La  Justice  dans  la  Revolution — his 
great  power  of  argument,  an  incomparable  style — 
had  it  not  been  for  the  brutal,  the  most  vulgar  in- 
sults he  showered  upon  two  women  whom  I  ad- 
mired above  all  others :  George  Sand,  the  author  of 
so  many  chefs-d'oeuvre,  and  the  Comtesse  d'Agoult 
(Daniel  Stern),  the  universally  admired  writer  of 
the  Revolution  of  1848. 

[77] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


I  dined  at  the  Fauvetys  one  evening,  after  I 
had  read  these  books,  and  expressed  my  indigna- 
tion.    Madame  d'Hericourt  was  one  of  the  guests. 

"  You  should,"  I  said  to  her,  "  defend  these 
women  who  are  so  grossly  insulted,  as  you  use  your 
pen  so  admirably  against  the  terrible  Proudhon. 
To  leave  such  attacks  unanswered  would  really  be 
abominable  and  odious." 

"  George  Sand  and  Daniel  Stern  have  re- 
ceived just  what  they  deserved,"  Madame  d'Heri- 
court replied,  with  the  hatred  of  those  who  think 
they  possess  as  much,  if  not  more  merit,  than 
persons  who  are  superior  to  them.  "  I  exact  virtue. 
I  practise  it  myself,  and  Proudhon  has  not,  I  am 
sure,  dared  to  attack  me  on  this  score  in  these 
books,  which  I  have  not  yet  read." 

"  Well,"  I  replied,  "  I,  who  am  but  of  small  ac- 
count, but,  however,  quite  as  virtuous  as  yourself, 
will  defend  them.  Being  women  they  must  be  up- 
held by  a  woman !  " 

"  Why,  that  is  the  book  Edmund  predicted  you 
would  write,"  cried  Madame  Fauvety.  "  Quick ! 
go  to  work  !  " 

Zozo,  who  was  on  his  mistress's  knees,  seeing 
her  excitement,  began  to  bark. 

"  You  see,  Zozo  approves,"  she  continued. 
"  That  is  certainly  the  book   Edmund  predicted 

[78] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


would  suddenly  make  you  well  known.  You  must 
shut  yourself  up  now,  to-night,  and  see  no  one 
until  your  answer  to  Proudhon  is  written." 

I  returned  home  much  excited,  and  also  with 
the  firm  determination  to  write  the  book.  Some 
scruples  I  at  first  felt  about  Proudhon's  book  hav- 
ing been  seized,  soon  vanished,  La  Justice  dans  la 
Revolution  not  having  been  prohibited,  nor  Proud- 
hon condemned,  for  that  part  about  which  I  in- 
tended to  reply. 

I  wrote  for  two  months.  I  recopied,  rear- 
ranged my  little  volume,  working  at  night  secretly, 
shut  up  in  my  room  where  I  was  alone  with  my 
child,  my  husband  being  more  occupied  with  one 
of  our  servant  maids  than  with  myself.  Both 
Monsieur  Renouvier  and  Fauvety  took  great  in- 
terest in  my  book  and  constantly  asked  me  about 
it.     One  day  Madame  d'Hericourt  said  to  me: 

"  Well !  is  your  defence  of  your  celebrated 
elders  getting  on?  If  you  succeed  in  finishing  it, 
Heaven  grant  that  those  '  great  ladies  '  will  be 
grateful  to  you  for  all  the  trouble  you  seem  to  be 
taking." 

"  Yes,  Madame,"  I  replied,  "  I  am  certainly 
taking  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Remember,  I  am 
only  a  recruit,  and,  at  my  age,  have  not  a  veteran's 
experience." 

[79] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Veteran !  veteran !  you  mean  me,  doubtless," 
replied  Madame  d'Hericourt  in  a  fury.  "  If  you 
defend  some  of  them,  you  are  certainly  very  im- 
pertinent to  others." 

Monsieur  Renouvier,  who  had  at  that  time  ob- 
tained a  great  literary  success,  was  very  happy  at 
the  fact  and  wished  me  to  succeed  also.  His  pub- 
lisher had  just  brought  out  a  revised  edition  of 
his  Essais  de  Critique  Generale,  which  was  warmly 
received,  notably  in  foreign  countries,  where  a 
special  public  awaited  and  discussed  his  works  with 
an  ever-increasing  interest.  When  one  of  Mon- 
sieur Renouvier's  books  was  announced  to  appear, 
or  when  he  was  quoted,  apropos  of  one  of  his  arti- 
cles, his  admirable  prospect  for  the  organization  of 
the  Republic — Le  Gouvernment  Direct,  in  which 
he  had  attacked  Louis  Napoleon's  conduct  after  the 
Coup  d'Etat  with  great  logical  power — was  often 
cited. 

"  The  Empire  is  beginning  to  be  visibly  under- 
mined in  the  cities,"  Monsieur  Renouvier  said  to 
us  one  evening,  "  and  is  no  longer  upheld  except  in 
the  provinces  which  continue  to  grow  rich  by  it." 

The  violent  animosity  towards  the  Empire  of 
Jules  Favre,  who  used  his  great  oratorical  power 
to  bring  to  light  all  the  Government's  faults,  by  al- 

[80] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


lusions  full  of  double  meanings,  made  a  great  ef- 
fect on  many  minds,  already  weary  of  submission 
to  it.  Ernest  Picard,  with  his  free-and-easy  man- 
ners and  his  outbursts  of  wit,  amused  the  majority. 

"  Please  admire,"  the  oath-takers  said  to  us, 
"  our  summing  up  of  '  The  Three  ' :  Jules  Favre 
completes  Ollivier,  Picard  ranks  with  Darinion, 
and  as  to  Henon,  who  does  not  obey  Ollivier,  he 
follows  Jules  Favre  blindly." 

"  *  The  Five  '  are  absolutely  necessary  to  draw 
the  country's  attention  to  the  foolish  and  danger- 
ous line  of  politics  the  Empire  forces  us  to  follow 
with  foreign  countries.  Who  else  will  enlighten 
it,  with  the  press  muzzled  as  it  is?  "  the  oath-takers 
added. 

Some  persons  quoted  the  words  spoken  by  Mon- 
sieur Thiers,  who,  since  the  institution  of  the  Parlia- 
mentary group  of  "  The  Five  "  found,  perhaps, 
that  there  was  a  chance  of  his  having  a  place  in 
the  Legislative  Assembly,  and  was  therefore  less 
severe  apropos  of  the  oath-taking. 

"  They  do  not  wish  for  liberty  yet,"  he  said, 
"  just  as  they  did  not  wish  it  after  the  Great  Revo- 
lution. When  anarchy  and  social  disorder  have 
triumphed  in  a  country  people  prefer  servitude, 
but  when  servitude  has  kept  their  minds  under  a 
bushel  too  long,  and  has  too  entirely  deprived  them 

[81] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


of  light,  then  they  feel  the  need  of  a  liberal  reac- 
tion, a  new  dawn,  no  matter  from  whence  it  may 
come,  and  I  see  the  first  glimpse  of  this  new  aurora 
now." 

At  Paris  even  ail  of  us  who  refused  to  take  the 
oath  followed  with  the  greatest  interest  everything 
that  took  place  at  the  Legislative  Assembly,  and 
the  five  oath-takers,  whose  entrance  into  Parlia- 
ment we  so  much  blamed,  were  attacked  by  us  more 
violently  than  by  others  at  any  manifestation  of 
weakness,  which  did  not,  however,  prevent  us  from 
saying  that  one  compromised  one's  self  very  use- 
lessly by  taking  the  oath,  considering  the  small 
benefit  obtained  thereby.  Ah !  what  a  rare  thing 
for  political  parties  to  be  logical !  The  "  little 
Olliviers  "  called  us  "  the  prudes,"  the  "  home  ex- 
iles," and  laughed  at  Jules  Simon's  "  bitterness," 
at  Emmanuel  Arago's  "  thundering  opposition," 
at  Jules  Grevy's  "  long-silent  hopes,"  and  at  Goud- 
chaux's  "  Orestes-like  fury."  Not  all  the  young 
men,  however,  belonged  to  the  society  of  the  Rue 
Saint-Guillaume,  "  the  general  disparaging  and 
mutual-pushing  society,"  as  we  called  them.  If 
the  "  little  Olliviers  "  worshipped  their  master  in 
rather  an  aggravating  fashion,  if  when  he  made  a 
speech  at  the  Legislative  Assembly  Jules  Ferry, 
Floquet,   Dreo,  the  son-in-law  of  Garnier-Pages, 

[82] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


Herald,  and  Dclprat,  who  were  always  informed 
when  it  was  to  take  place,  and  were  all  present,  to 
manifest  their  approbation  and  escort  him  to  the 
door,  expressing  between  themselves  and  around 
him  most  enthusiastic  praise,  that  deceived  the 
curious  listeners,  on  the  other  hand,  Jules  Valles, 
Arthur  Arnoult,  and  their  group  made  much  fun 
of  "  the  Mutual  Aid  line  of  politics." 

What  passionate  interest  was  taken  in  politics 
at  that  time!  The  smallest  event  was  discussed, 
newspapers  read  between  the  lines.  Every  article 
was  noted  and  criticised,  and  its  allusions  spread 
broadcast  around.  The  feeling  in  political  life 
was  intense;  the  state  was  worth  the  fight.  The 
Opposition  party  under  its  two  forms  of  oath-tak- 
ers and  those  who  refused  to  take  it,  gathered  in  its 
circle  an  equal  number  of  old  combatants  who  had 
given  proof  of  their  valour  as  of  young,  energetic 
men  impatient  to  do  the  same. 

I  finished  my  book — Idees  Anti-Proudhoniennes 
— and  read  it  to  Monsieur  Fauvety,  who  admired  it, 
and  who  gave  me  some  valuable  advice  concerning 
it.  But  Proudhon  was  such  a  fierce  polemist,  such 
a  cruel,  dreaded  adversary,  and  so  spiteful,  that 
when  Monsieur  Fauvety  had  finished  reading  it, 
he  said  to  me: 

[83] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  You  will  never  find  any  one  to  publish  it !  " 

I  had  not  thought  of  that  for  a  moment. 

"What!  my  poor  book,  that  has  devoured  all 
my  nights,  will  never  see  the  light  of  day?  "  I  ex- 
claimed, sadly. 

"  Try  to  beguile  some  well-known  publisher. 
Do  not  write  to  him.  Take  your  manuscript  to 
him  yourself.  Who  knows  what  may  happen?  But 
I  doubt  whether  you  will  succeed,  after  he  has 
read  it." 

Could  it  be  possible  that  I  could  not  have  my 
book  published  at  once?  Was  I  not  to  become  sud- 
denly well  known,  as  Edmond  had  predicted? 
Much  good  had  it  done  me  to  believe  in  his  predic- 
tion, to  have  lived  in  a  state  of  fever,  in  a  dream, 
for  two  months,  and  to  have  said  to  myself  every 
time  I  thought  of  a  great  artist,  a  great  writer,  a 
great  savant:  "  Will  he  be  my  friend  some  day?  " 

I  hastened  to  Chauny ;  told  my  father  I  had 
written  a  book,  reminded  him  of  his  lost  bet,  and 
how  he  had  promised  to  pay  for  its  publication. 

"But  what  is  this  book?" 

I  refused  to  tell  him  either  the  subject  or  the 
title.  I  was  afraid  of  his  love  and  admiration  for 
Proudhon.  However,  in  the  course  of  conversation 
he  spoke  to  me  about  Proudhon's  work  La  Justice 
dans  la  Revolution,"  and  said: 

[84] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


"  In  spite  of  its  admirable  pages,  written  in 
such  a  superior  manner,  I  found  such  gross,  vulgar 
things  said  about  George  Sand,  the  great  Repub- 
lican woman  and  the  close  friend  of  my  friends 
Pierre  Leroux  and  Ledru-Rollin,  and  also  about 
Daniel  Stern,  the  loyal  and  impartial  author  of 
La  Revolution  de  1848,  that  I  was  disgusted,  and 
you  must  have  been  scandalized,  I  hope?  " 

"  Yes,  scandalized !  outraged  !  " 

My  father  thought  I  should  require  a  thousand 
francs  to  have  my  book  published  and  gave  me  a 
bank-bill  for  that  amount,  saying :  "  Above  all,  if 
you  wish  to  keep  these  thousand  francs  don't  speak 
to  your  husband  about  them." 

I  went  first  to  Michel  Levy  with  my  manu- 
script beautifully  rolled  up  and  a  small  pocketbook 
containing  my  thousand-franc  bank-bill.  I  entered 
and  asked  to  speak  to  Monsieur  Michel  Levy. 

"What  about?" 

"  About  a  book  I  wish  published." 

The  clerk  eyed  me  from  head  to  foot. 

At  that  moment,  Monsieur  Michel  Levy  came 
out  of  his  office  to  give  an  order,  and,  as  he  was 
about  to  return  to  it,  the  employee  said,  with  a  de- 
riding tone  of  voice: 

"  Here  is  a  young  lady  who  wishes  to  have  a 
book  she  has  written  published  by  our  house." 

[85] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Monsieur  Michel  Levy  looked  at  me,  smiling, 
and  asked: 

"  What  is  the  subject  of  your  book?  " 

"  It  is  a  reply  to  Proudhon  against  his  attack 
on  George  Sand  and  Daniel  Stern." 

"And  you  have  written  this  reply,  Mademoi- 
selle? " 

"  Madame,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  And  you  propose  to  have  that  published  by 
the  house  of  Michel  Levy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur ;  but  I  understand,  of  course, 
that  I  must  pay  the  expense  of  having  my  first 
book  published,  and  if  you  will  read  it " 

"  It  would  be  useless,  Madame." 

"  What,  do  you  decide  in  this  way  without 
knowing  my  book  ?  " 

"  Oh!  I  can  judge  very  well  what  your  work 
will  be  by  looking  at  you.  What  do  you  think  of 
it,  my  dear  Scholl  ?  "  he  added,  speaking  to  a  man 
who  had  just  entered  the  room,  and  telling  him 
about   my   request. 

"  It  would  really  be  a  pity  that  Madame  should 
become  a  blue-stocking.  You  are  right  to  dis- 
courage her,  my  dear  Levy.  She  has  something 
better  to  do." 

"  Monsieur  Aurelien  Scholl,"  I  said  to  him, 
haughtily,   "  at   Monsieur   EngePs,   next   door,   a 

[86] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


poem  of  mine  has  been  published,  which  certainly 
is  not  worth  three  stanzas  of  Denisc,  but  my  prose 
might  equal  your  own." 

And  I  left  Michel  Levy's  shop  in  a  rage,  my 
heart  bursting  and  my  literary  hopes  much  cast 
down. 

Scholl  has  often  since  reminded  me  of  the  scene. 
It  seems,  after  my  reply  to  him,  he  advised  Michel 
Levy  to  call  me  back. 

I  went  from  publisher  to  publisher,  to  eight, 
among  the  most  prominent  ones,  and  was  every- 
where refused.  I  even  applied  to  Gamier,  Proud- 
hon's  editor,  who  was  more  polite  to  me  than  the 
others  had  been,  but  he  said  to  me : 

"  You  must  understand  that  I  could  not  do  it." 

I  wrote  to  Hetzel,  then  in  exile  in  Brussels,  and 
he  replied: 

"  Either  your  book  is  very  poor,  or  else  you  use 
checked  handkerchiefs  and  probably  take  snuff. 
I  do  not  think  that  a  woman,  doubtless  ugly  and 
very  old,  has  any  right  to  take  up  arms  regarding 
George  Sand's  and  Daniel  Stern's  youth  or  their 
present  position  against  Proudhon,  thereby  expo- 
sing them  to  ridicule,  at  which  they  would  be  mor- 
tally offended,  for  Proudhon  will  certainly  answer 
you." 

I  was  in  despair,   and   Monsieur  Fauvety,  to 

[87] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


whom  I  related  my  experiences,  did  not  console  me 
by  saying :  "  We  are  living  in  an  age  of  universal 
cowardice." 

"  It  is  not  from  cowardice  that  they  refuse  me," 
I  replied,  "  but  from  contempt  of  what  they  think 
me  capable.  They  refuse  even  to  read  what  I  have 
written,  some  because  they  think  me  pretty,  others 
because  they  suppose  I  am  ugly !  " 

I  have  never  forgotten  those  days  when  every- 
thing seemed  hopeless  to  me.  I  had  had  the  cour- 
rage  to  suffer  my  private  life  only  through  the 
hope  of  making  a  successful  literary  career  for  my- 
self, and  now  this  hope  fell  from  me,  not  through 
my  own  fault,  but  from  ill-luck. 

I  had  left  my  little  girl  with  my  parents  in 
order  to  be  more  free  to  attend  to  this  undertaking, 
and  I  was  thinking  of  returning  to  live  with  them. 
I  spoke  to  my  husband  of  the  advisability  of  our 
separating  amicably. 

"  I  will  never  consent  to  a  separation,"  he  re- 
plied. "  You  are  the  handsomest  ornament  of  my 
house,  and  if  I  should  be  in  financial  trouble,  your 
people  would  help  me,  I  am  sure.  Let  there  be  no 
further  question  of  this  absurd  idea  between  us, 
not  recognisable,  moreover,  by  law.  You  know,  I 
have  already  told  you,  that  in  all  my  acts,  /  keep 
within  the  pale  of  the  Law." 

[88] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


On  the  ground  floor  of  our  house,  opposite  to 
the  Magasins  du  Louvre,  there  was  a  small  book- 
shop, where  I  frequently  bought  books  for  my 
father.  The  owner's  name  was  Tarride.  Can  it 
be  the  present  well-known  publisher  of  that  name? 

I  went  to  him  and  said : 

"  Monsieur  Tarride,  I  have  written  a  book, 
which  I  think  is  clever,  and  I  cannot  find  a  pub- 
lisher. I  will  pay  the  expenses,  will  you  publish 
it?" 

"  Why  not,  Madame,  we  are  both  unknown,  I, 
as  publisher,  you  as  a  writer,  we  therefore  can  run 
the  risk  of  a  failure,  as  no  one  will  hear  of  it." 

"  I  will  go  and  get  my  manuscript  and  we  will 
take  it  together  to  some  small  printing-house.  We 
will  settle  the  price  and  have  it  printed." 

I  was  promised  five  hundred  volumes  for  seven 
hundred  francs.  Tarride  advised  me  to  spend  an- 
other hundred  francs  to  have  the  type  kept,  "  For, 
if  by  chance,"  he  said,  "  it  should  sell,  we  can  have 
the  other  editions  printed  faster." 

No  one,  at  that  time,  had  ever  thought  of  hav- 
ing a  book  published  during  the  summer.  Tarride 
advised  me  to  wait  until  the  autumn. 

I  repeated  his  words  to  him : 

"  What  risk  will  we  run  ?  " 

My    Idees    Anti-Proudhoniennes,    ornamented 

[89] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


with  a  band  around  the  volumes,  announcing, 
"Just  appeared,"  stood  out  in  Tarride's  window,  on 
the  day  before  the  Imperial  festival  of  the  15th  of 
August,  which  Napoleon  III  desired  should  be  ex- 
tremely brilliant  because  he  had  granted  an  am- 
nesty for  the  occasion.  There  was  not  at  that 
moment  "  a  cat  in  Paris,"  as  the  Parisians  said,  and 
as  they  continue  to  say  now. 

I  settled  myself  in  the  back  room  of  Tarride's 
shop  on  the  19th,  where  after  having  sought  out, 
with  "  my  editor,"  the  names  of  the  most  important 
writers  and  journalists  to  whom  I  was  to  present 
them,  I  wrote  flattering  dedications  in  fifty  volumes, 
and  the  next  day  I  took  a  cab,  and,  with  my  list  in 
my  hand,  went  and  distributed  my  books  at  news- 
paper officers,  while  Tarride's  small  clerk  carried 
others  to  the  "  celebrities."  Hoping  it  would  bring 
me  good  luck,  I  began  with  Le  Siecle,  which  had 
published  my  letter  to  Alphonse  Karr. 

My  friend  Doctor  de  Bonnard  was  to  present 
my  Idees  Anti-Proudhoniennes  to  Toussenel  and  to 
the  persons  who  had  formed  the  group  of  writers 
on  Toussenel's  former  Democratie  Pacifique: 
Daniel  Stern,  George  Sand,  Pere  Enfantin,  Neff- 
tzer,  Littre,  Emile  de  Girardin,  Louis  Jourdan, 
Peyrat,  Gueroult,  Monsieur  de  la  Gueronniere,  Cas- 
sagnac,  Prosper  Merimee,  Edmond  About,  notwith- 

[90] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


standing  his  Roi  des  Montagncs,  Octave  Feuillet, 
Hippolyte  Carnot,  Jules  Grevy,  among  the  polit- 
ical men,  etc.  All  received  a  volume  the  first  day  it 
appeared,  with  an  appropriate  address  written 
therein,  which  I  hoped  would  interest  them. 

I  sent  a  volume  to  Hetzel  and  Proudhon,  and  I 
wrote  in  Hetzel's  copy :  "  A  pretty  woman  to  a 
coarse  boar."  The  fifty  volumes  had  all  reached 
their  destination  on  the  second  day  after  their  pub- 
lication. 

My  husband  was  passing  a  week  with  his  family 
at  Courville,  and  I  took  advantage  of  his  absence 
to  bring  my  book,  of  which  he  did  not  know  a 
single  word,  before  the  public.  Then  I  flew  to 
Chauny  to  take  my  Idees  Anti-Proudhoniennes  to 
my  father.  What  would  take  place  between 
us? 

He  took  the  little  volume,  gave  a  start  as  he 
read  the  title,  turned  it  over  and  over  in  his  hands, 
as  much  excited  as  myself. 

"  If  it  is  poor "  he  began. 

"  But  if  it  should  prove  good?  " 

"  Then,  perhaps,  your  fortune-teller  will  have 
been  right,  for,  at  your  age,  even  should  it  be  only 
half  successful,  you  will  have  stepped  out  of  the 
ranks." 

After  dinner,  my  father  finding  me   feverish, 
7  [91] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


sang  to  me  laughingly :  "  Go  to  bed,  Basile,"  and 
said :  "  I  will  read  your  book  to-night,  and  to-mor- 
row at  breakfast  I  will  give  you  my  opinion  about 
it." 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  my  father  came 
into  my  room  and  awoke  me,  saying :  "  It  is  good,  it 
is  good,  but  you  owe  it  to  me !  I  alone  sowed  the 
germ  of  these  Idees  Anti-Proudhoniennes  in  your 
mind.  Oh,  my  beloved  daughter,  it  means  success, 
it  means  your  freedom,  it  will  make  powerful  and 
influential  friends  for  you.  It  is  your  grand- 
mother's great  hope  realized !  Why  is  she  not 
here?  "  My  father  sat  down  beside  my  bed,  and 
the  night  was  passed  in  prolonged  conversation 
between  us. 

"  But,  who  knows,  papa,  whether  others  will 
think  as  you  do,  of  this  little  book  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  they  will.  How  can  it  be  otherwise, 
written  at  once  with  such  a  feminine  hand  and  with 
such  strong  argument?  It  will,  at  least,  interest 
them,  and  will  give  you  some  well-known  literary 
chaperon,  George  Sand  or  Daniel  Stern,  and  then 
you  will  work,  you  will  develop ;  your  foot  is  al- 
ready in  the  stirrup,  I  feel  sure  of  it." 

How  many  hopes  we  cherished,  how  many  plans 
for  the  future  we  laid  out !  At  breakfast  even  my 
mother  was  happy,  although  she  said :  "  The  agi- 

[92] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


tated  and   laborious  life  you  will  lead  makes  me 
tremble  for  you  !  " 

The  next  day  my  father  came  in  waving  Le 
Siecle,  as  Pauline  Barbaroux  had  done  ten  months 
before,  and  read  me  the  following  paragraph : 

"  '  A  book  destined  to  make  a  great  sensation 
was  sent  to  us  yesterday.  It  is  an  answer  to  Proud- 
hon  and  to  the  insults  contained  in  his  last  work 
about  George  Sand  and  Daniel  Stern.  They  say 
it  is  written  by  a  very  young  but  very  clever 
woman.     It  is  signed  Juliette  Lamessine.' ' 

"  You  must  return  to  Paris  this  very  day,"  my 
father  said  to  me,  "  to  receive  all  the  people  who 
will  doubtless  wish  to  see  and  talk  with  you." 

I  returned  to  Paris,  and  every  day  brought  me 
fresh  proofs  of  the  interest  taken  in  my  book  and 
in  its  author.  Eugene  Pelleton  wrote  a  review 
about  it  in  La  Presse  that  made  me  very  proud ;  I 
think  his  article  quite  turned  my  head.  I  thanked 
him,  and  the  next  day  he  came  to  see  me,  and  from 
that  moment  until  his  death  he  was  one  of  my  most 
devoted  friends. 

Mario  Proth  spoke  of  my  book  in  very  flatter- 
ing terms.  La  Gazette  de  France  gave  me  three 
long  reviews,  and  La  Revue  des  deux  Mondes,  at 
George  Sand's  request,  I  was  told,  highly  approved 
my  Idees  Anti-Proudhoniennes." 

[93] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


My  father,  my  friends  the  Fauvetys,  Renou- 
vier,  and  Doctor  de  Bonnard,  were  enchanted. 

Monsieur  Lamessine  agreed  that,  for  a  begin- 
ning, it  was  really  quite  good,  and  that  he  should 
take  pleasure  in  signing  his  own  name  to  the  future 
editions. 

"  Your  joke  is  not  a  pleasant  one,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Not  for  you,  perhaps,  but  it  is  for  me.  The 
law  authorizes  me  to  appropriate  to  my  own  use  all 
that  is  joint  property.  A  wife's  work  belongs  to 
her  husband."  And  he  signed  with  his  name  the 
second  edition,  published  by  Dentu,  for  there 
existed  no  clause  in  the  French  law  to  prevent 
him  from  so  doing.  It  is  even  so  to-day.  Tarride 
was  disgusted  and  gave  up  all  interest  in  the 
book.  Nothing  was  said  about  "  this  joke "  in 
the  press. 

A  very  handsome  young  woman,  who  was  en- 
thusiastic over  my  book,  came  to  see  me,  and  claimed 
to  be  my  cousin.  She  was  a  Belgian,  and  her 
family  was  allied  to  that  of  my  great  uncle,  the 
Conventional  Seron.  Her  name  was  Madame  Vil- 
bort.  Her  husband  was  the  correspondent  of  the 
Precurseur  d'Anvers,  the  author  of  highly 
esteemed  dramatic  works,  and  foreign  corre- 
spondent for  Le  Sieele.    She  invited  me  to  dine  with 

[94] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


her  the  following  week  and  I  became  acquainted 
at  her  house  with  Charles  Edmond,  a  Pole,  one 
of  the  Slavonic  revolutionists  of  1848,  a  distin- 
guished dramatic  writer,  and  belonging  to  the  staff 
of  La  Presse.  His  last  book,  Un  Voyage  dans 
les  Mers  du  Nord,  had  been  very  successful.  He 
had  fought  against  Russia  in  the  Crimean  War. 
Through  Charles  Edmond's  kindness,  I  made  a 
friend  of  Dall'  Ongaro,  a  Florentine  exile,  who  had 
been  much  celebrated.  He  had  read  my  Idees 
Anti-Proudhoniennes,  and  gallantly  declared  him- 
self their  champion. 

The  Union  des  Poetes  celebrated  my  Idees 
Anti-Proudhoniennes,  which  they  much  praised 
in  a  poem  written  by  Monsieur  Balahu. 

The  Comtesse  d'Agoult  (Daniel  Stern)  wrote 
to  me  after  having  read  my  book: 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  astonishing  that  you  should 
have  taken  a  woman's  name,  when  we  women  choose 
a  man's  name  as  pseudonym." 

I  answered  her  that  I  was  really  a  woman. 

George  Sand  thanked  me  in  a  most  charming 
letter,  full  of  gratitude.  She  was  leaving  for  a 
short  journey,  but  would  see  me,  she  said,  on  her 
return  to  Paris. 

Madame  d'Agoult  answered  my  letter  in  which 
I  announced  myself  a  woman  by  another  most  flat- 

[95] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


tering  one,  in  which  she  expressed  her  desire  to 
know  me,  and  said  that  one  of  her  best  friends, 
Monsieur  de  Ronchaud,  would  bring  me  an  invi- 
tation from  her  for  one  of  her  evenings,  and  would 
accompany  me  to  the  Rue  de  Presbourg,  at  what- 
ever hour  I  named. 

Louis  de  Ronchaud  was  as  devoted  an  Athenian 
in  his  tastes  as  I  was  myself,  and  our  first  conver- 
sation was  simply  a  hymn  to  Greece. 

He  told  me  he  wished  me  to  know  one  of  his 
friends,  Louis  Menard,  the  last  of  the  Grecian 
heathens,  and  Paul  de  Saint  Victor. 

"  We  four  together,"  he  added,  "  can  certainly 
create  a  new  Renaissance." 

He  talked  to  me  of  Madame  d'Agoult  for  a  long 
while.  He  had  been  her  confidant  during  the  time 
when  she  lived  with  Liszt,  and  had  remained  their 
common  friend  after  their  rupture. 

"  Passionate  love  between  superior  persons  can- 
not be  durable,"  Monsieur  de  Ronchaud  said  to 
me,  "  for  there  is  a  perpetual  struggle  for  domina- 
tion between  them." 

He  spoke  to  me  of  Madame  d'Agoult's  daugh- 
ters, so  exceptionally  beautiful  and  intelligent, 
Cosima  von  Billow  and  Blandine  Ollivier,  and  said 
their  two  husbands,  Hans  von  Bulow  and  Emile 
Ollivier,  were  exceptional  men. 

[96] 


I  PUBLISH  MY  BOOK 


"  But,  I  replied,  "  you  must  be  rather  anxious 
about  the  durability  of  their  reciprocal  affection, 
with  your  theory  about  the  fragility  of  passion  be- 
tween superior  persons." 

"  None  of  the  four,"  he  answered,  "  can  ap- 
proach Liszt's  and  Madame  d'Agoult's  superiority. 
Their  son,  Daniel  Liszt,  will  perhaps  equal  them ; 
he  has  prodigious  capability  for  work.  He  is 
already  irresistible,  like  his  father." 

"  Is  Liszt,  really  as  fascinating  as  he  has  been 
so  often  described?  "  I  asked. 

"  When  you  know  the  Comtesse  d'Agoult," 
Monsieur  de  Ronchaud  answered,  "  when  you  will 
have  been  able  to  judge  of  her  serious,  thoughtful, 
intelligent  mind,  so  much  given  to  analysis  and 
criticism,  you  will  understand  the  fascination 
Liszt  must  exercise  over  women,  for  her,  holding  the 
social  position  she  owned,  to  have  run  away  with 
him  one  night  from  a  ball.  Just  think,  she  broke 
with  her  family,  her  society ;  she  sacrificed  honour, 
her  child,  a  respected  husband,  for  a  mad  impulse 
of  passion !  Have  you  never  heard  how  a  great, 
noble  Russian  lady  always  had  the  floor  of  her 
drawing-room  strewn  with  flowers  whenever  she 
expected  a  visit  from  Liszt?  I  could  tell  you  of  a 
hundred  wild  passions  he  has  inspired." 

A    serious    bronchial    attack    from    which    my 

[97] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


daughter  was  suffering  kept  me  at  Chauny  for 
three  weeks.  A  few  days  after  my  return  to  Paris 
I  recalled  to  Daniel  Stern's  memory  the  invitation 
she  had  given  me. 


[98] 


CHAPTER  VI. 


I   MAKE   A    VALUABLE    FRIEND. 


fflONSIEUR  DE  RONCHAUD  came  to  take 
lkl\  me  to  Madame  d'Agoult's,  where  I  found, 
among  others,  Nefftzer,  former  head  editor  of  La 
Presse,  who  had  brought  about  Emile  Ollivier's 
election  and  who  was  strongly  opposed  to  those 
who  would  not  take  the  oath.  I  heard  foreign 
politics  discussed  clearly  for  the  first  time  by  him, 
and  then  and  there  began  my  great  interest  in  them 
forever.  An  exciting  discussion  between  us  on 
Grecian  politics  made  us  fast  friends  in  an  amusing 
and  durable  manner. 

Madame  d'Agoult  saw  a  great  deal  of  Monsieur 
de  Girardin,  with  whom  she  was  always  on  very 
friendly  terms,  Madame  de  Girardin  having  been 
the  first  person  to  receive  her  after  her  return  to 
Paris  and  her  rupture  with  Liszt,  her  escapade 
having,  of  course,  shut  her  out  from  aristocratic 
drawing-rooms. 

Hippolyte  Carnot,  Littre  and  Jules  Grevy 
cared  but  little  for  society,  and  were  rarely  met  ex- 
cept in  Madame  d'Agoult's  salon.  They  often 
formed  a  group  together,  into  which  I  would  steal, 

[99] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


and  listen  with  great  respect  and  with  much  intel- 
lectual profit  to  the  discussions  that  would  take 
place  between  them,  discussions  that  were  always 
provoked  by  one  of  the  most  remarkable  suggesters 
of  ideas  that  I  have  ever  know,  Dupont-White, 
the  father  of  the  future  Madame  Sadi  Carnot. 

The  Comtesse  d'Agoult  had  a  particular  affec- 
tion and  esteem  for  those  whom  she  called  her 
"  Jurassiens  " — her  men  from  the  Jura — Jules 
Grevy,  her  lawyer,  and  Louis  de  Ronchaud,  one 
of  her  most  devoted  friends,  who  lived,  in  summer, 
on  his  inherited  estate,  not  far  from  Mont-sous- 
Vaudrey,  at  St.  Lucipin-par-St.  Claude,  and  who 
Madame  d'Agoult  always  laughingly  called  "  Lu- 
cipin-by-Claude." 

Madame  d'Agoult  spoke  several  languages,  an 
unusual  thing  in  those  days.  Her  mind,  which  was 
high-toned,  much  matured  and  very  individual, 
was  extremely  cultivated,  and  although  she  was 
most  curious  about  other  people,  she  was  very 
reserved  concerning  herself.  Firm  and  resolute, 
even  to  obstinacy,  in  her  own  opinions,  no  one  was 
more  tolerant  to  others.  At  first  sight  Madame 
d'Agoult  struck  one  as  somewhat  virile  and  mascu- 
line, without  losing  the  effect  of  womanliness,  and 
was  wont  to  say,  "  I  have  attained  the  age  of  man- 
hood."     She   was   tall   and   extremely    elegant   in 

[100] 


.*■■■•' 


•C&A- 


■  a 


". 


DANIEL  STERN   (Mme.  d'Agoult). 
From  au  engraving  by  Leopold  Flaraeng. 


I  MAKE  A  VALUABLE  FRIEND 

appearance,  and  was  the  perfect  type  of  a  high- 
bred woman.  She  called  herself  a  Democrat,  and 
she  was  one  in  all  sincerity,  but  the  word  in  her 
mouth  seemed  such  a  contrast  to  herself,  if  not  an 
anomaly,  that  one  could  not  help  smiling. 

Everything  about  Madame  d'Agoult  was  high- 
bred; her  appearance,  her  features,  the  manner  in 
which  she  carried  her  head  with  its  crown  of  snow- 
white  hair,  over  which  she  wore  a  black  chantilly 
lace  veil,  and  all  her  gestures  were  aristocratic. 

Dignity  was  her  prominent  trait,  even  in  her 
rare  moments  of  effusion,  and  one  was  astonished 
that  she  never  betrayed  the  passionate  note  in  her 
character  that  had  brought  about  the  stormy 
event  in  her  life,  whose  struggles  she  describes  in 
Nelida's  confession.  Any  breach  of  good- 
breeding,  any  want  of  education,  so  frequently 
found  among  Democrats,  caused  her  real  pain,  but 
on  the  other  hand,  she,  herself,  had  one  defect:  as 
a  result  of  living  outside  of  her  own  sphere,  she 
had  lost  the  exact  notion  and  the  proportionate 
measure  of  social  positions  acquired  by  talent.  We 
were  all  greatly  scandalized,  for  we  also  had  our 
political  and  philosophical  prejudices,  when  one 
day  she  invited  Pasdeloup,  the  fashionable  orches- 
tra leader,  Littre,  Carnot,  and  Grevy,  to  dine 
together.     On  another  occasion  she  asked  Paul  de 

[101] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


St.  Victor,  the  refined  man  of  letters,  to  luncheon 
with  an  operetta  singer.  She  meant  no  disdain  by 
such  actions.  Talent,  without  a  title,  for  which 
she  cared  no  longer,  seemed  to  her,  under  no  matter 
what  form,  to  possess  its  own  intrinsic  value. 

In  politics  she  was  most  liberal  and  well- 
balanced,  and  her  opinion  of  the  men  of  1848  was 
definitely  accepted  for  a  long  while.  Daniel  Stern's 
language  was  pure  and  free  from  pretension.  A 
very  clear  perception  of  facts  gave  to  her  style  an 
admirable  imagery,  the  beauty  of  which  marvel- 
lously concealed,  as  was  desired,  any  possible  redun- 
dancy of  colouring  in  the  phraseology.  Madame 
d'Agoult  was  a  serious  writer,  who  desired  to  be 
taken  more  as  a  mind  that  one  admires  than  as  a 
heart  that  is  beloved. 

Nevertheless,  in  her  great  work  on  the  Revolu- 
tion of  1848,  one  finds  certain  pages  where  she,  as 
it  were,  abandons  herself  to  inspiration.  Some  of 
these  pages  devoted  to  Jules  Grevy  approach 
prophecy.  She  first  describes  him  as  the  type  of 
a  Republican  of  high  principles  and  then  speaks 
enthusiastically  of  his  foresight. 

"  Monsieur  Grevy's  role,"  she  says,  "  had  the 
merit  of  being  preponderate  in  the  Constituent 
Assembly."  His  celebrated  amendment  was,  ac- 
cording to  Daniel  Stern,  "  nothing  less  than  pre- 

[102] 


I  MAKE  A  VALUABLE  FRIEND 

science.  He  desired,"  she  wrote,  "  that  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Republic,  instead  of  being  elected  such, 
by  universal  suffrage,  should  be  President  of  a 
Council,  elected  for  an  unlimited  period,  and 
always  revocable."  In  October,  1848,  Monsieur 
Grevy  strongly  protested  against  the  idea  of  a 
President  who,  from  the  fact  of  being  invested 
with  popular  sovereignty,  "  should  be  more  for- 
midable than  a  King."  Madame  d'Agoult  often 
said,  as  all  her  friends  can  remember :  "  Our  next 
Republic  will  be  presided  over  by  Grevy." 

Les  Esquisses  Morales,  one  of  the  books  which 
gives  the  best  idea  of  Daniel  Stern's  great  knowl- 
edge of  philosophy,  made  such  a  sensation  in  the 
literary  world  that  she  subsequently  became  better 
known  as  the  author  of  Les  Esquisses  Morales 
than  of  La  Revolution  de  1848. 

Having  been  brought  up  in  Germany,  Madame 
d'Agoult  was  not  fond  of  light,  jocular  conver- 
sation, and  would  often  throw  cold  water  on  it  by 
feigning  not  to  understand  it.  The  general  tone 
of  her  drawing-room  was  serious ;  conversation  ran 
principally  on  politics,  art.  especially  on  music, 
but  touched  seldom  on  novels  and  the  theatre.  Ed- 
mond  Texier,  one  of  the  wittiest  men  in  Paris,  was 
a  frequent  visitor,  but  he  kept  his  sallies  for  other 
places  and  was  merely  an  observer  of  this  circle, 

[  103] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


which  became  more  interesting  every  day.  He 
was  on  the  staff  of  Le  Siecle,  and  wrote  for  a  great 
many  journals  under  various  pseudonyms,  but 
signed  his  weekly  articles  in  the  Siecle  with  his  own 
name.  He  was  very  caustic  and  his  sayings  were 
often  quoted,  and  seemed  all  the  more  bitter  when 
read  apart  from  his  articles,  which  were  clear,  elo- 
quent compositions,  written  in  finished,  elegant  and 
noble  style.  Distinguished  looking  in  his  appear- 
ance, devoted  to  his  friends,  steadfast  to  his  prin- 
ciples, he  was  loved  and  esteemed  by  many  and 
feared  by  some.  He  had  pubished  several  polit- 
ical portraits  which  had  obtained  very  great 
success. 

Madame  d'Agoult  numbered  among  her  best 
friends  Edouard  Grenier,  a  charming  poet,  a 
stanch  Republican  and  Lamartine's  most  intimate 
friend.  He  was  called  "  the  living  Gazette  "  ;  he 
knew  everything,  he  had  seen  and  read  everything, 
he  could  converse  admirably,  and  would  give  his 
hearers  the  exact  sense  of  small  facts  and  of  great 
events.  Edmond  Texier  used  to  say  "  that  any 
criticism  or  the  relation  of  any  fact  that  had  not 
passed  Edouard  Grenier's  lips,  had  not  acquired 
its  proper  significance  or  its  Parisian  notoriety." 
Edouard  Grenier,  although  intimate  with  all 
the  men  of  1848,  was  eclectic,  and  was  at  the  same 

[  104] 


I  MAKE  A  VALUABLE  FRIEND 

time  the  friend  of  the  Imperialist  Merimee,  and  of 
Auguste  Barbier,  the  author  of  Les  Jambes,  a 
terrible  satire  on  "the  flat-haired  Corsican."  I 
know  of  no  one  who,  in  speaking  of  Grenier,  did 
not  say  that  "  he  was  charming,  delightful,  the 
most  loyal  and  most  noble  of  men."  As  Madame 
d'Agoult  once  said :  "  Our  dear  Ronchaud,  our  dear 
Grenier." 

Grenier,  de  Ronchaud  and  Tribert,  when  the 
latter  was  not  away  travelling,  were  the  three  pil- 
lars of  Madame  d'Agoult's  drawing-room  and 
gave  it  a  tone  of  moral  solidity,  which  contrasted 
singularly  with  the  then  fashionable  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  Empire,  which  were  most  frivolous, 
and  where  anything  serious  was  voted  "  a  bore  " 
(embetant),  this  slang  term  being  at  that  time 
much  in  use. 

Vacherot  and  Renan  were  also  constant  visitors 
at  Madame  d'Agoult's,  where  Renan  displayed  as 
much  art  in  his  conversation  as  he  did  in  his  writ- 
ings. 

Edmond  Texier  used  to  say  "  that  one  could 
lean  against  the  mantelpiece  in  Madame  d'Agoult's 
drawing-room,  and  start  a  conversation  or  a  dis- 
cussion, which  soon  becoming  general,  as  a  veri- 
table lecture  on  politics  or  literature."  None  of  my 
then  young  contemporaries,  nor  myself,  can  ever 

[  105  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


forget  what  we  learned  and  gathered  from  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult's  drawing-room. 

Vacherot,  when  head  lecturer  and  director  of 
studies  at  the  Ecole  Normale,  and  who  was  the 
author  of  L'Histoire  Critique  de  l'Ecole  d'Alex- 
andrie,  had  refused  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance 
to  the  Empire  in  1852.  He  was  a  man  of  great 
learning,  very  liberal-minded,  with  a  keen  nature; 
his  train  of  thought  was  bitter  and  pessimistic,  but 
in  all  discussions  between  superior  minds  at  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult's  his  reflections  were  always  indi- 
vidual. 

Madame  d'Agoult  would  often  read  to  us  some 
letter  of  one  of  the  great  foreign  revolutionists, 
Mazzini  or  Kossuth.  At  other  times,  either  Louis 
Blanc,  Ledru-Rollin,  Schoecher,  Edgar  Quinet  or 
Challemel-Lacour  would  send  her  a  report  on  the 
political  questions  of  the  day,  destined  to  be  com- 
municated to  her  intimate  circle  of  friends.  Each 
reunion  was  thus  made  most  interesting,  and  espe- 
cially so  because  her  circle  was  not  closed  to  what 
was  newly  called  "the  Constitutional  Opposition," 
nor  even  to  the  young  "  little  Olliviers,"  who 
thought,  although  being  Republicans,  they  might 
some  time  possibly  be  rallied  to  a  liberal  Empire, 
as  was  their  chief,  Madame  d'Agoult's  son-in-law. 
People,  however,  would  have  had  great  difficulty 

[106] 


I  MAKE  A  VALUABLE  FRIEND 

in  making  some  of  them  confess  that  they  would 
ever  consent  to  be  upholders  of  it  in  the  future. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  time  when  Floquet  was 
introduced  to  Madame  d'Agoult  by  Adalbert 
Philis.  Monsieur  Charles  Floquet  at  that  time 
gave  himself  great  airs  and  was  the  most  wonder- 
ful prig  under  heaven.  When  we,  her  intimate 
friends,  would  arrive  early,  Madame  d'Agoult 
would  inform  us  of  "  the  surprises,"  as  she  called 
them,  that  she  had  in  store  for  us.  That  evening, 
with  feigned  gravity,  she  said  to  us: 

"  We  shall  have  Floquet  to-night,  but,  alas ! 
without  wearing  his  legendary  hat."  As  every  one 
knows,  Floquet's  hat  was  celebrated.  At  the  ap- 
pointed hour  he  entered  the  drawing-room  pre- 
ceded by  Adalbert  Philis,  who  introduced  him  to 
Madame  d'Agoult,  seated,  as  was  her  wont,  on  the 
right  of  the  fireplace.  At  the  end  of  five  minutes 
Floquet  began  to  talk  loudly.  He  prated,  asked 
questions  and  answered  them,  and  holding  his  right 
hand  in  the  armhole  of  his  waistcoat,  apprised 
us,  that  like  Madame  d'Agoult,  he  was  very  inti- 
mate with  the  Peruzzis  at  Florence.  He  rolled 
the  "  r  "  of  the  name  and  pronounced  it  after  the 
Italian  manner,  and  assured  us  that  they  were  full 
of  hope  at  Florence,  since  Orsini's  letter,  and  that 
Napoleon  III  gave  constant  pledges  of  good-will 
8  [  107  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


towards  the  Italian  cause ;  "  that  admirable  cause," 
Monsieur  Floquet  added,  in  a  thundering  voice, 
"  that  unites  a  traditional  sovereign  of  the  oldest 
ducal  house  in  Europe,  Victor  Emmanuel,  a  guer- 
rilla chieftain,  Garibaldi,  an  audacious  revolution- 
ist, Mazzini,  and  a  statesman  who  is  the  greatest 
diplomat  of  the  universe,  Cavour !  " 

Nefftzer  and  Texier  were  beside  me,  and  we  ex- 
changed some  almost  apparent  jokes  about  him. 
Hippolyte  Carnot,  Littre  and  Dupont-White 
looked  at  each  other  with  surprised  eyes  and 
seemed  to  say :  "  What  are  we  coming  to,  if  all  the 
'  little  Olliviers  '  should  be  equally  bold?  " 

Floquet,  at  that  time,  proclaimed  himself  "  the 
son  of  Robespierre."  Whenever  any  mention  of 
the  Revolution  of  1793  was  made  before  him,  he 
instantly  became  its  defender.  He  stood  in  front 
of  an  imaginary  bar,  and,  in  a  loud,  clarion-like 
voice,  which  he  had  long  practised,  he  discoursed 
as  eloquently  and  as  noisily  for  a  few  hearers  as  for 
a  crowd.  He  was  the  dramatic  defender  of  the 
September  massacres.  This  was  Floquet's  public 
character.  In  private  he  would  have  been  taken 
for  an  uneducated  upstart  and  a  newly  converted 
Republican,  trying  in  turn  to  make  proselytes  in 
an  exaggerated  manner. 

Adalbert  Philis,  with  whom  we  later  in  the  even- 

[  108  ] 


I  MAKE  A  VALUABLE  FRIEND 

ing  laughingly  discussed  his  friend,  and  who  had 
so  much  tact  and  delicacy  himself,  said:  "  Floquet 
is  the  best  educated  man  I  know.  He  comes  of  an 
old  distinguished  Basque  family.  He  is  naturally 
gentle  in  manner,  a  very  good  fellow,  witty,  amiable 
and  nothing  loath  to  enjoy  himself.  But  as  soon  as 
he  says  to  himself,  '  I  am  destined  to  play  a  great 
role  in  the  Revolutionary  events  of  the  future,' 
he  becomes  as  you  have  seen  him,  solemn,  severe, 
stiff  and  aggressive ;  but  all  this  will  soften  down, 
and,  mark  me,  you  will  see  he  will  become  a  volatile 
personage." 

On  a  succeeding  day,  Monsieur  Ernest  Hamel, 
a  young  man  overflowing  with  "  Montaguisme," 
was  introduced.  He  was  known  later  as  being  the 
author  of  L'Histoire  de  Saint-Just,  which  the 
Imperial  government  had  seized  and  confiscated. 
His  manners  displeased  those  whom  we  called  "  the 
old  ones  "  as  much  as  Floquet's  had  done. 

In  the  course  of  a  conversation  I  had  with  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult,  after  a  small  breakfast  to  which  she 
had  invited  only  myself  and  Monsieur  de  Ron- 
chaud,  I  amused  her  exceedingly  by  my  enthusi- 
astic praise  of  CEdipe-Roi,  translated  by  Jules 
Lacroix,  which  I  had  seen  a  few  weeks  previously 
at    the    Theatre-Francais ;    the    simplicity    of    the 

[109] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


translation,  the  admirable  comprehension  of  the 
characters  in  the  Grecian  masterpiece,  Edmond 
Membree's  accompanying  antique  chants,  and 
Madame  Favart's  wonderful  acting,  made  me  speak 
of  Greece  in  passionate  terms.  De  Ronchaud 
shared  my  enthusiasm  for  Jules  Lacroix's 
GEdipe-Roi,  and  Madame  d'Agoult  said  im- 
patiently that  her  friend  "  of  Lucipin-by-Claude," 
already  an  exaggerated  Hellenist,  "  would  now, 
with  such  an  ally  as  myself,  become  thoroughly 
insupportable." 

As  was  usual,  Madame  Fauvety  and  myself  saw 
(Edipe-Roi  after  it  had  been  playing  for  some 
time,  and  my  conversation  with  Madame  d'Agoult 
coincided  with  the  first  representations  of  Orphee- 
aux-Enfers,  over  which  all  Paris  was  wild,  and 
singing  its  popular  airs. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Madame  d'Agoult,  "  I 
will  take  you  to  the  Bouffes.  It  will  modernize 
you  a  little.  You  are  too  young  to  be  so  antique. 
It  will  warp  your  judgment  forever.  Leave  an- 
tiquity to  de  Ronchaud,  to  Menard,  to  Saint- 
Victor.  It  will  do  them  no  harm,  but  is  not  good 
for  you." 

"  Madame,"  I  replied,  "  antique  tragedy  alone 
helps  me  to  bear  the  drama  of  my  present  life." 
Modern   drama   will   distract  you   more,   my 
[110] 


a 


I  MAKK  A  VALUABLE  FRIEND 


child.  Instead  of  going  to  see  CEdipc-Roi,  go  to 
the  Ambigu  to  sec  Lc  Marchand  de  Coco  and 
Fanfan  la  Tulipe.  They  are  less  solemn  and 
just  as  exciting.  Follow  my  advice,  dear  little 
one ;  be  of  your  day." 

"  For  the  love  of  Greece,  remain  Grecian,"  de 
Ronchaud  added. 

I  heard  that  George  Sand  was  in  Paris.  I  had 
the  greatest  desire  to  know  her.  She  had  sent  me 
word  by  Charles  Edmond  that  she  wished  to  thank 
me  in  person  for  the  pleasure  my  Idees-Anti- 
Proudhoniennes  had  given  her.  One  day  I  re- 
ceived the  following  letter: 

"  Madame  :  Would  }rou  be  kind  enough  to  re- 
ceive me  next  Thursday  at  two  o'clock?  I  know  it 
is  not  your  day  at  home,  and  that  is  why  I  have 
chosen  it.  George  Sand  has  begged  me  to  call  and 
thank  you  for  the  book  which  you  sent  to  her  and 
which,  as  you  will  hear  from  me,  she  has  found 
most  interesting.  If  you  send  me  no  answer  I  shall 
conclude  that  my  visit  will  be  acceptable  to  you. 
"  Believe  me,  Madame,  etc., 

"  Capitaine  d'Arpentigny." 

On  the  day,  and  at  the  hour  mentioned,  the  Cap- 
tain was  announced.     It  struck  me  that  he  came 

[111] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


more  as  an  inspector  than  as  a  bearer  of  compli- 
ments. 

I  felt  at  first  exceeding  vexed  with  him  for 
the  cross-questioning  to  which  he  subj  ected  me,  and 
vaguely  grateful  to  her,  who  took  sufficient  interest 
in  me  to  submit  me  to  such  an  examination. 

"Who  are  you?  Where  do  you  come  from?" 
asked  the  Captain.  "  Do  you  love  your  husband? 
What  does  he  do?  " 

I  answered  all  these  indiscreet  inquiries. 

"  Have  you  any  children  ?  Monsieur  d'Arpen- 
tigny  added. 

"  A  daughter." 

"Very  good!    Are  you  a  devoted  mother?  " 
Of  course  I  am !    But  I  beg  of  you " 


a 


"  I  have  not  finished.  I  have  still  half  a  dozen 
questions  to  ask  you,  and,  my  dear  child,  you  must 
answer  them.  I  esteem  George  Sand's  friendship 
so  highly  that  when  I  am  authorized  by  her  to 
superintend  the  beginning  of  a  new  friendship,  I 
do  my  duty  conscientiously.  So  pray  answer  me. 
Do  you  write  for  the  pleasure  of  it,  or  to  gain 
celebrity,  or  to  extend  the  circle  of  your  admirers, 
for,  dear  lady,  you  are  adorable !  " 

I  felt  the  tears  rise  to  my  eyes;  the  compliment 
was  so  curt,  so  impertinent. 

My  answer,  however,  pleased  the  blunt  Captain, 
for  he  replied,  half  smiling: 

[112] 


I  MAKE  A  VALUABLE  FRIEND 

"  Excellent !     Now  show  me  your  hand." 

I  gave  it  to  him.  He  turned  it  over  and  over  as 
though  it  were  some  article  on  a  shop  stall.  He 
looked  at  the  palm  to  read  the  lines.  His  face  sud- 
denly lit  up  good-naturedly  and  his  expression 
changed  completely. 

"  Ah !  ah !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Here  is  a  loyal 
hand,  and  we  will  seal  our  compact." 

He  went  on  examining  my  hand,  uttering  ex- 
clamations, sometimes  amusing,  sometimes  serious, 
short  or  long  reflections.  It  was  all  so  droll  that 
my  usual  gaiety  returned  to  me.  When  he  had 
finished  examining  my  left  hand,  the  Captain 
seized  my  right. 

"  Good !  good !  very  good !  Now  I  feel  quite  sure, 
dear  lady,  that  you  can  be  a  friend  of  George  Sand. 
I  am  ready  to  sanction  the  friendship." 

"  Then,  Captain,"  I  cried,  overjoyed,  "  I  can 
see  and  know  George  Sand." 

"  Most  certainly  not !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  asked,  hurt  and  much 
surprised. 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  explain,  my  child.  I  have 
heard  that  you  are  a  very  intimate  friend  of  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult,  of  Daniel  Stern.  Now  George  Sand 
quarrelled  with  her  a  long  time  ago;  every  one 
knows  the  reasons  why.  All  the  details  and  motives 
of  their  friendship  and  of  its  subsequent  ending 

[113] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


have  been  made  public  in  two  books:  Horace,  by 
George  Sand,  and  Nelida,  by  Madame  d'Agoult; 
so  you  will  understand  how  impossible  it  would  be 
for  you  to  see  and  know  George  Sand  without  her 
deeming  it  necessary  to  warn  you  against  the  person 
whose  influence,  she  thinks,  will  be  bad  for  you. 
Now,  George  Sand's  character  is  opposed  to  run- 
ning the  risk  of  separating  you  from  a  friend  whom 
you  love.  She  will  wait !  When  the  day  comes 
when  you  will  no  longer  be  friends  with  Madame 
d'Agoult,  you  will  know  that  Madame  Sand  is 
ready  to  be  your  friend,  and  that  you  can  go  to 
see  her.  Until  then,  write  to  her  when  you  so  de- 
sire ;  she  will  always  answer  you." 

The  Captain  rose,  and  seeing  how  distressed  I 
was,  said,  what  seemed  to  me  a  strange  consolation : 

"  It  will  happen,  I  am  sure,  before  long.  Daniel 
Stern  has  a  remarkable  mind,  and  one  that  seems 
unusually  well-balanced.  Some  time  ago  I  exam- 
ined her  hand.  She  has  moments  when  she  is  un- 
reliable, from  which  you  will  suffer  some  day,  and 
your  friendship  will  be  broken  up." 

So  it  came  to  this :  that  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  see  George  Sand,  or  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
knowing  her,  until  the  day  when  I  should  be  so 
unfortunate  as  to  quarrel  with  Madame  d'Agoult. 


[114] 


CHAPTER  VII 


WITH    THE   SCIENTISTS 


reiEFFTZKR,  Girardin,  the  Constitutional 
tM  opposers,  were  daily  gaining  ground  in 
Madame  d'Agoult's  drawing-room,  which  until 
the  election  of  "  the  Five  "  had  been  entirely  ruled 
by  the  non-oath-taking  party. 

After  1852,  the  refusal  to  take  the  oath  was  the 
sole  form  of  protestation.  The  men  of  1848  were 
imprisoned,  exiled,  sent  to  Cayenne  or  Lombessa, 
their  principles  were  held  up  to  ridicule,  and  after 
the  insurrection  of  June,  they  were  hated  by  the 
people.  They  suffered  from  calumny,  as  no  fallen 
party  ever  did  before.  They  were  crushed  after 
their  defeat,  and  they  thought  only  of  redeeming 
their  individual  honour,  and  of  forcing  their 
enemies'  esteem,  by  their  writings  and  by  their  acts. 

The  fight  against  what  they  called  "  Imperialist 
corruption  "  was  won  solely  by  repeated  proofs  of 
their  high-toned  character,  and  by  a  stubborn  re- 
sistance against  all  conciliation.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  sincere  disinterestedness  among  those 
who  refused  to  take  the  oath.  If  some  of  them  were 
accused  of  possessing  these  qualities  on  the  surface 

[115] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


only,  they  at  least  considered  it  necessary  to  appear 
as  though  possessing  them,  but  the  majority  of  the 
party  of  "  home  exiles,"  comprising  such  men  as 
Cavaignac,  Carnot,  Lionville,  Goudchaux,  Grevy, 
and  extending  from  the  old  writers  on  the  Na- 
tional, from  Thiers  to  Duclerc,  from  Littre  to  Bar- 
thelemy  Saint-Hilaire,  from  old  Thomas  to  Hau- 
reau  and  Edmond  Adam,  inspired  such  respect  that 
even  the  resources  of  the  official  press  and  of  the 
"  Law  of  General  Security  "  could  not  damage  it. 

It  was  therefore  necessary,  at  all  costs,  that  the 
Empire  should  realize  Monsieur  de  Morny's  deter- 
mined idea  to  disaggregate  this  "  block  "  of  honest 
consciences,  in  order  to  draw  public  opinion  away 
from  such  honourable  example,  and  it  was  through 
Monsieur  Emile  Ollivier's  aid  that  Monsieur  de 
Morny  succeeded  in  injuring  the  political  morals 
of  the  Republican  party. 

Madame  d'Agoult,  who  never  took  part  in  gen- 
eral conversation,  and  who  almost  always  conversed 
with  some  chosen  person,  gave  no  indication  of  her 
opinions,  past  or  present.  Although  she  continued 
to  evince  great  friendliness  towards  those  who  re- 
fused to  take  the  oath,  one  was  led  to  think  that 
perhaps  while  approving  the  act,  she  would  have 
followed  the  rising  sun,  had  she  not  feared  to  be 
taken  in  tow  by  her  son-in-law,  Emile  Ollivier,  and 

[116] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


of  being  made  part  of  the  noisy  cohort  of  the 
"  little  Olliviers." 

She  was,  however,  soon  forced  to  choose  between 
her  old  and  her  new  friends,  those  who  had  refused 
to  take  the  oath  withdrawing  themselves  from  her 
circle  in  proportion  as  the  oath-takers  frequented 
it  the  more.  Since  Cavaignac's  death,  partly 
caused,  his  intimate  friends  averred,  by  his  sorrow 
at  seeing,  what  was  to  him  the  despairing  compro- 
mises accepted  by  the  young  Republicans,  who  thus 
made  the  older  ones  powerless  to  act,  the  Repub- 
lican party  was,  so  to  speak,  decapitated. 

Not  only  did  the  young  men  unite  with  the  oath- 
takers,  conquerors  of  those  who  refused  to  take  it, 
but  they  began  to  blame  those  in  exile,  whom,  until 
then,  they  had  revered. 

They  had  begun  this  revolt  when  Edgard 
Quinet's  book  L'Histoire  de  mes  Idees  had 
appeared,  and  of  which  they  said :  "  There  is  a 
point  where  sincerity  becomes  senility.  No  young 
brain  would  have  written  such  a  book."  Splendid 
pages,  however,  of  great  eloquence  and  rare  high 
moral  thought  abounded  in  this  work. 

Laurent  Pichat,  whose  house  was  open  to  the 
young  members,  perceived  that  "  the  old  beards," 
as  they  began  to  call  them,  fell  off  by  degrees  in 
their  attendance.     Madame  d'Agoult  was  anxious 

[117] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


to  know  all  the  "  little  Olliviers,"  so  they  were  intro- 
duced to  her  one  by  one,  and  soon  became  obnoxious 
on  account  of  their  number.  Their  want  of  respect 
for  the  "  ancestors,"  a  term  they  considered  more 
polite  than  "  the  old  beards,"  seemed  to  us,  myself 
and  our  older  friends,  much  too  apparent.  They 
might  have  been  taken  for  the  spokesmen  of  our 
enemies.  They  went  further  than  Proudhon,  or 
Girardin,  or  even  Emile  Ollivier  himself,  in  their 
contempt  of  those  whom  they  called  "  the  dupes  of 
Napoleon  III."  Jules  Ferry  said  one  day,  at 
Madame  d'Agoult's,  "  that  to  violate  an  oath  given 
to  the  Emperor,  was  a  duty."  In  our  eyes,  this 
declaration   completely   absolved   Napoleon   III. 

These  young  members  were  stiff,  cold  and  un- 
enthusiastic ;  they  said  that  the  time  for  dreaming 
was  over ;  that  one  must  be  practical,  and  struggle 
only  for  results.  They  were  antipathetic  to  me 
beyond  words.  Although  I  was  younger  than 
themselves,  they  seemed  older  to  me  than  the  oldest 
men.  Their  compliments  annoyed  me,  and,  in  spite 
of  a  growing  friendship  between  Laurent  Pichat 
and  myself,  he  could  never  enrol  me  among  the 
young  politicians  of  his  party. 

The  society  in  Madame  d'Agoult's  drawing- 
room  changed,  so  to  speak,  every  week.  Sometimes 
its  atmosphere  was  greatly  excited  by  the  conver- 

[118] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


sation  of  the  elder  men ;  sometimes  it  was  rendered 
apathetic  by  the  younger  ones.  One  day  she  said 
to  de  Ronchaud,  Grenier,  Tribert  and  myself: 

"  A  political  drawing-room  can  only  exist  on 
condition  that  those  who  frequent  it  are  bound  to- 
gether by  similar  opinions,  feeling  collectively  the 
same  interest  in  the  past  through  the  men  who 
have  survived  it,  in  the  present  through  those  who 
are  doing  active  service,  and  in  the  future  in  those 
men  whom  the  past  and  present  have  formed  and 
are  educating  in  view  of  future  action;  but  when 
the  unfledged  birds  undertake  to  lecture  their 
fathers  and  grandfathers,  everything  is  upside 
down." 

"  The  young  recruits  wish  to  assume  command," 
Tribert  continued.  "  They  think  only  of  taking 
possession  of  the  citadel,  of  assaulting  its  positions 
and  of  its  destruction,  without  giving  thought 
to  the  rebuilding  of  the  fortress  for  future 
defence." 

"  The  heroic  epoch  of  our  party  seems  to  have 
come  to  an  end,"  de  Ronchaud  said.  "  Our  foes 
have  become  more  lenient  through  their  enjoyment 
of  power,  but  this  tranquil  enjoyment  gives  birth 
to  many  envious  enemies." 

"  The  young  politicians,"  I  added,  "  think  much 
more  of  overthrowing  the  Empire,  in  order  to  take 

[119] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


its  place,  than  of  devoting  themselves  to  the  good 
of  France." 

In  spite  of  all  of  Monsieur  de  Ronchaud's  oppo- 
sition, who  even  went  so  far  as  to  accuse  Madame 
d'Agoult  of  doing  something  quite  wrong,  she  in- 
sisted on  taking  me,  with  Monsieur  de  Girardin,  to 
see  Orphee  aux  Enfers.  We  went  first  to  dine 
at  a  "  cabaret '  (a  restaurant),  as  my  famous 
friend  laughingly  said,  and,  after  we  had  all  three 
talked  a  great  deal,  I  went  to  the  Bouffes  in  excel- 
lent spirits,  ready  to  be  amused  at  what  was  amus- 
ing all  Paris. 

But  after  the  first  scenes,  I  felt  an  insurmount- 
able disgust  at  its  idiotic  foolishness.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  my  gods  should  be  given  over  to  silly 
puns,  grotesquely  caricatured  in  the  lowest  and 
vilest  manner?  They  were  ridiculed  in  such  a  way 
that  it  was  a  veritable  nightmare  to  refined  minds. 
Was  this  what  a  believer  in  Jehovah  made  of  our 
Homeric  legends,  and  was  there  no  one  to  answer 
him  joke  for  joke  by  insulting  his  Jewish  tradi- 
tions? I  expressed  my  disgust  strongly.  I  evoked 
our  French  traditions,  revolted  at  what  seemed  to 
me  a  treasonable  action  against  my  country.  I 
enumerated  one  by  one  the  names  of  all  the  poet 
Orpheus's     sons,     while    silly   laughter   resounded 

[  120] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


around  me,  and  the  actors  continued  to  play  the 
imbecile  parts. 

My  painful  emotion  was  so  great  that  Madame 
d'Agoult  and  Monsieur  de  Girardin  ceased  to 
smile. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  the  latter,  "  that  this 
young  Anti-Prudhonian  speaks  as  Toussenel  does 
of  this  play,  and  that  he  also  sees  political  treason 
in  it?  The  author  of  Les  Juifs  Rois  de  l'Epoque 
wrote  to  me  a  few  days  ago,  begging  me  to  take  up 
arms  against  Orphee  aux  Enfers.  '  We  must  not 
allow  our  filial  instincts  to  be  thus  compromised,' 
he  said.  '  Thracia,  Orpheus's  mother,  is  our 
mother  also.  Offenbach,  who  ridicules  Greece, 
whence  comes  the  inspiration  of  our  artistic  tra- 
ditions, continues  Halevy's  work,  who  strove  to 
elevate  his  race  in  La  Juive.  They  are  the  would- 
be  destroyers  of  our  ideals,  for  which  they  wish 
to  substitute  their  own,  among  them  The  Golden 
Calf.'  "  Toussenel  also  added :  "  They  are  the 
children  of  the  earth's  bowels,  whose  malevolent 
riches  they  cultivate,  and  we  the  children  of  light, 
who  cultivate  the  beneficent  riches  of  the  surface 
of  the  soil." 

"  That  is  an  idea  to  be  developed,"  added  Girar- 
din ;  "  for  it  is  true  that  an  agricultural  people 
are  less  dangerous  than  English  miners.     It  might 

[121] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


be  interesting  to  study  a  nation's  proclivities,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  its  mining  or  agricultural 
industry." 

All  that  is  taking  place  to-day  in  France  was 
prepared  a  long  time  ago,  and  how  few  there  were 
who,  like  Toussenel,  perceived,  understood  and 
feared  what  has  come  to  pass.  Offenbach  was  born 
in  Cologne.  He  was  a  clever  precursor  of  the  task 
the  German  Jews  set  themselves  to  accomplish  in 
France,  in  order  to  make  her  defeat  the  easier. 

Their  aim  was  to  destroy  by  degrees  all  that  we 
admire  in  elevated  and  holy  things;  to  sap  the 
sources  of  our  inspiration,  and  of  that  which  makes 
France  truly  French;  to  turn  the  Grecian  gods, 
our  literary  and  artistic  imitators,  into  ridicule;  in 
a  word,  to  write  Orphee  aux  Enfers,  and  later  to 
make  our  military  men  grotesque  in  La  Grande 
Duchesse  de  Gerolstein,  while  at  Berlin  they  were 
reviving  all  their  legends  and  were  rejoicing  that 
they  had  avenged  the  Palatinate  War  and  Jena. 

Madame  d'Agoult  was  vexed  with  me  that  I  did 
not  take  the  pleasure  she  wished  me  to  take  in  the 
anti-Grecian  play,  but  de  Ronchaud  pleaded  my 
cause,  and  came  one  day  and  advised  me  to  go  and 
surprise  her  at  her  hour  for  her  drive  in  the  Avenue 
des  Bois  de  Boulogne.     I  went  and  found  her  with 

[122] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


Tribcrt,  just  returned  from  a  journey  to  Italy,  of 
which  country  he  was  passionately  fond,  and  which 
he  visited  at  least  once  every  year.  Madame 
d'Agoult  shared  Tribert's  love  for  Italy,  but 
found  it  too  exclusive.  She  was  constantly  re- 
proaching him  for  what  she  called  "  his  anti-Ger- 
man tomfoolery." 

"  Prepare  yourselves  for  invasion,"  Tribert  said 
again  that  day.  "  The  Empire  will  bring  it  about. 
It  will  soon  be  too  late  for  you  to  escape  it.  France 
must  be  sincerely  and  entirely  Italy's  ally.  She 
should  feel  sympathy  for  her  alone,  for  she  is  ver- 
itably her  sister  by  race.  A  complete  understand- 
ing with  Italy  would  draw  Spain  also  into  the  com- 
pact, and  then  the  Latin  race  would  be  able  to 
defend  itself  and  have  nothing  further  to  fear  from 
Germanic  invasion." 

"  You  are  very  tiresome,  Tribert,  with  your  con- 
tinual, self-same  repetitions,  and  worthy  to  join  in 
chorus  with  my  young  friend,"  and  she  then  related 
to  him  our  "  adventure  "  at  Orphee  aux  Enfers, 
my  disgust,  and  Toussenel's  conviction  that  the 
German  Jews  were  working  to  destroy  national 
character  in  us. 

"  Toussenel  is  perfectly  right,"  exclaimed  Tri- 
bert ;  "  and  I  could  tell  you  a  great  deal  about  what 
has  been  conspiring  against  us  in  Germany  for 
9  [  123  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  of  what  they 
teach  the  young  Prussians  at  school,  of  what — 


" 


"  Hold  your  tongue,  Tribert,"  interrupted  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult. 

Those  of  my  generation  can  well  remember  the 
great  scandal  caused  by  the  publication  of  a  book 
by  Jacquot,  called  De  Mirecourt,  La  Maison 
Alexandre  Dumas  et  Cie,  in  which  he  asserted  that 
although  the  books  of  the  elder  Alexandre  Dumas 
were  signed  with  his  name,  they  were  in  reality 
written  by  young  and  unknown  men,  who  were  paid 
by  the  day  for  their  work.  Dumas  brought  him 
before  the  courts,  and  Jacquot  de  Mirecourt  was 
condemned  to  six  months'  imprisonment. 

But  the  success  of  this  odious  pamphlet  sug- 
gested to  a  certain  publisher  the  idea  of  asking 
Jacquot  de  Mirecourt,  when  he  came  out  of  prison, 
to  write  for  him  a  series  of  biographies  under  the 
title  of  Galerie  de  Contemporains.  Mirecourt's 
habit  was  to  write  to  an  author  for  information 
about  himself;  were  it  given,  he  distorted  it;  were 
it  refused,  he  dragged  the  author  into  the  mire. 
This  malicious  man  was  a  good  writer ;  he  was  wily 
and  spiteful,  and  his  little  volumes,  each  one  con- 
taining a  biography,  were  much  read.  However, 
numerous  lawsuits  concerning  these  publications 
ruined  his  editor,  and  he  gave  them  up. 

[  124] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


I  received  a  letter  from  dc  Mirecourt  in  which  he 
called  me  "  his  dear  colleague,"  and  said  he  had 
published  some  letters  to  Proudhon,  and  that  such 
a  bond  of  sympathy  would  naturally  oblige  me  to 
receive  him,  or  else  send  him  "  some  information 
for  my  biography." 

I  spoke  to  Monsieur  Fauvety  about  it,  who  ad- 
vised me  not  to  hesitate  "  to  give  satisfaction  to  the 
venomous  beast." 

Having  seen  Madame  d'Agoult  that  same  day, 
I  asked  her  advice  on  the  Mirecourt  question, 
knowing  she  liked  to  help  me  by  her  counsel. 

"  Be  sure,"  she  said,  "  my  child,  not  to  answer 
that  disreputable  man.  It  would  compromise  you. 
The  life  of  Paris  is  full  of  snares.  Whenever  you 
are  in  doubt  about  anything,  tell  me.  I  will  take 
pleasure  in  giving  you  the  benefit  of  my  knowl- 
edge of  men,  and  of  my  experience,  sometimes 
dearly  bought." 

Gratitude  was  mingled  with  my  affection  for 
Madame  d'Agoult,  for  she  took  great  pains  to 
make  a  Parisian  lady  out  of  the  little  country  girl 
I  was.  I  always  remember  gratefully  the  lessons 
she  gave  me,  which  she  summed  up  in  a  simple  for- 
mula. 

"  Any  customs,"  she  said,  "  which  are  not  quite 
refined  and  polite,  are  not  to  be  questioned.     For 

[125] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


instance — to  give  a  simple  example — to  be  too  ex- 
acting before  others  at  table,  when  servants  are 
negligent  in  their  duty." 

One  day,  Madame  d'Agoult  took  me  to  the  studio 
of  the  sculptor  Adam-Salomon,  who  was  just  then 
greatly  interested  in  photography,  and  had  begun 
to  make  an  "  album  of  Daniel  Stern's  Friends," 
which  contained  later  on  the  photographs  of  Jules 
Grevy,  Littre,  Carnot,  Girardin,  Renan,  Nefftzer, 
Dupont-White,  Edouard  Grenier,  Scherer,  Alfred 
Mezieres,  Tribert,  de  Ronchaud,  Guerolt,  Prince 
Napoleon,  Vacherot,  Madame  Coignet,  Challemel- 
Lacour  and  Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer,  who  sat 
for  their  portraits  after  the  amnesty  and  their  re- 
turn from  exile.  The  others,  such  as  Madame 
Ackermann,  were  taken  when  they  became  Madame 
d'Agoult's  friends.  Those  of  all  the  celebrated 
Italians,  great  Hungarians  and  Germans,  as  they 
in  turn  visited  Paris,  completed  Daniel  Stern's 
album. 

Adam-Salomon  made  a  very  handsome  photo- 
graph of  me,  which  so  pleased  Leopold  Flameng 
that  he  engraved  it.  He  had  just  finished  a  medal- 
lion portrait  of  Madame  d'Agoult  that  had  been 
universally  admired,  and  he  often  said,  speaking 
of  this  medallion  and  of  the  engraving  of  myself: 
"  They  are  my  two  masterpieces." 

[126] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


"  I  have  asked  to  dinner  next  week,  Littre,  Hip- 
polyte  Carnot,  Dupont-White,  Tribert,  de  Ron- 
chaud,  and  you  must  come,  my  child,"  Madame 
d'Agoult  said  to  me.  "  I  know  that  each  of  you  will 
be  delighted  to  meet  the  others,  so  do  not  fail  me." 

Miss  such  a  dinner !  Not  for  anything  in  the 
world.  I  almost  worshipped  Littre;  and  he  pro- 
fessed to  feel  great  affection  for  me.  We  talked 
of  Greece,  and  my  passion  for  that  land  amused 
him.  How  many  new  things  he  revealed  to  me 
about  the  Iliad,  which  neither  my  father  nor  my- 
self had  understood  or  imagined.  Littre,  besides 
being  editor  of  the  Revue  Positiviste,  was  contin- 
uing his  translation  of  Hippocrates's  works,  which 
he  only  finished  in  1861.  He  was  very  fond  of 
Madame  d'Agoult;  he  admired  her  clearness  of 
mind,  her  great  comprehension  of  the  most  abstract 
ideas,  and  her  intimate  circle  also  pleased  him, 
with  the  exception  of  Monsieur  de  Girardin.  Like 
all  the  former  writers  on  the  National,  he  could 
not  forget  Carrel's  death. 

Littre's  character  was  the  most  superior  I  ever 
knew.  I  have  never  met  a  more  logical  and  loyal 
mind,  a  nobler  conscience,  a  more  simply  devoted 
heart,  nor  any  one  with  more  tolerant,  though 
strong  opinions.  Littre  possessed,  moreover,  all 
that  philosophical  opinions,  a  true  sense  of  justice, 

[127] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


and  entire  uprightness  can  bestow  on  a  man  who  is 
desirous  of  reaching  perfection.  His  political 
opinions  were  in  perfect  accord  with  his  philosoph- 
ical doctrines;  but  all  his  knowledge  and  all  his 
virtues  did  not  inspire  him  with,  or  even  suggest  to 
him,  the  most  fugitive  notion  of  idealism.  He 
surpassed  his  master  in  materialism ;  where  Stuart 
Mill,  who  was  as  fervent  a  disciple  of  Auguste 
Comte  as  himself,  said :  "  Positivism  is  not  neces- 
sarily a  negation  of  the  supernatural ;  it  simply 
relegates  the  question  to  the  origin  of  things ;  " — 
where  the  founder  of  positivism  endeavoured  to 
extract  a  manner  of  religious  idealism  from  it, 
Littre  took  his  stand  in  absolute  materialism. 
Auguste  Comte  left  one  free  to  have  his  own  opin- 
ions, declaring  that  there  was  "  no  more  argument 
in  favour  of  the  Hereafter  than  against  it." 
Littre  did  not  hesitate  to  deny  its  existence. 

When  one  knew  him,  one  loved  and  honoured  him 
in  spite  of  seeing  the  narrow  views  of  such  a  vast 
intelligence.  It  is  true  it  compromised  the  whole  of 
humanity,  and  that  was  sufficient  for  him.  The 
history  of  all  nations,  science  in  all  its  branches, 
the  language  of  all  countries,  what  the  human  mind 
had  achieved  in  all  ages,  all  this,  Littre  knew  as  no 
one  ever  knew  it  before  him.  His  knowledge  of  all 
things    was    colossal ;    he    cared    not    whence    he 

[128] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


gathered  it,  nor  what  use  could  be  made  of  it. 
His  load  of  knowledge  being  heavy,  he  was  satis- 
fied simply  to  bear  it  alone.  A  believer  in  his  own 
unbelief,  he  respected  other  persons'  faith,  no 
matter  what  form  it  assumed.  Many  of  Auguste 
Comte's  disciples  followed  Littre  in  his  evolution, 
or  rather,  detached  themselves,  as  he  had  done  from 
a  system  diametrically  opposed  to  its  premises. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  dinner,  Madame 
d'Agoult  drew  Hippolyte  Carnot  to  talk  of  the 
subject  nearest  his  heart,  his  two  sons,  Sadi  and 
Adolphe ;  Sadi,  the  elder,  who  was  still  at  the  Poly- 
technic School,  shared,  to  his  great  joy,  all  his 
opinions,  and  he  placed  his  hopes  of  political  com- 
pensation in  him. 

Dupont-White,  on  his  side,  answered  Madame 
d'Agoult's  questions  concerning  his  eldest  daugh- 
ter, who,  although  scarcely  fifteen  years  old,  aided 
him  in  all  his  studies  and  was  ambitious  to  take  his 
secretary's  place.  She  was  intensely  interested  in 
her  father's  work  on  the  Middle  Ages,  which  were 
also  a  revelation  to  us.  The  Middle  Ages,  as  seen 
under  the  sombre  colours  of  Romanticism,  became 
illumined  under  Dupont- White's  pen.  "  That 
epoch,"  he  said,  "  bristled  with  liberty ;  the  Royal 
Power  was  exercised  under  the  leading-strings  of 
the  General  States,  and  found  impossible  limits,  in 

[129] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


the  rights  of  the  nobility,  of  the  communes  and  cor- 
porations." He  was  the  author  of  a  work  of  great 
competency,  L'Individu  et  l'Etat. 

Whenever  he  published  an  article,  his  paradoxes, 
as  they  were  called,  aroused  fiery  discussions.  He 
possessed  in  supreme  degree,  Norman  "  sapience," 
a  mixture  of  wisdom  and  knowledge  joined  with 
common  sense. 

I  could  but  remember  many  years  afterward 
how  Hippolyte  Carnot  had  praised  his  eldest 
son,  and  Dupont-White  his  eldest  daughter,  when 
they  announced  to  us  that  they  were  to  be  married, 
and  no  union  was  ever  happier  than  that  of  Mon- 
sieur Sadi  Carnot  and  Mademoiselle  Dupont- 
White,  for  it  united  two  superior  minds  admirably 
educated,  two  souls  abundant  in  patriotism  and 
two  hearts  that  had  remained  ineffably  pure. 

Littre  seemed  sad  while  listening  to  these  happy 
fathers  speaking  of  their  favourite  children.  Did 
he  not  see  and  foresee  a  similar  happiness  possible 
in  his  own  household? 

Dupont-White  was  very  intimate  with  Stuart 
Mill,  and  lost  no  opportunity  of  speaking  in  his 
praise.  Whenever  he  and  Littre  would  meet  he 
would  always  attack  the  latter's  materialism,  which 
brought  about  endless  discussions  between  them. 

Carnot,  who  was  a  former  Saint-Simonian,  and 

[  130] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


who  also  took  great  interest  in  philosophical  dis- 
cussions, soon  set  fire  to  the  powder,  by  asking  a 
question  concerning  Pierre  Lafitte,  Auguste  Com- 
te's  testamentary  executor.  I  naturally  pricked 
up  my  ears  at  the  first  words,  and  as  Littre  and 
Dupont-White  both  questioned  me  apropos  of  a 
remark  I  had  made,  and  which  proved  that  I  had 
read  at  least  a  part  of  Auguste  Comte's  "  heavy 
volumes,"  I  bravely  replied: 

"  I  do  not  feel  either  Monsieur  Littre's  circum- 
scribed admiration  for  Auguste  Comte,  or  Mon- 
sieur Dupont- White's  benevolence  when  he  follows 
Stuart  Mill's  interpretation  of  his  doctrines.  I 
think  that  materialistic  positivism  disaggregates 
our  traditional  ideas  of  morality  and  that  Com- 
tism  is  simple  ideology." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Dupont-White,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"No,  but  my  other  griefs  against  him  are  per- 
sonal ones,  and  I  do  not  include  them.  They  are 
griefs  of  my  married  life." 

"If  I  had  found  anything  better  than  positiv- 
ism," Littre  said  to  me  with  his  habitual  gentleness, 
in  such  strong  contrast  with  the  hardness  of  his 
features,  "if  I  knew  of  another  doctrine  that  pos- 
sessed the  philosophical,  scientific  and  historical 
tenure  that  positivism  does  and  that  had  less  dis- 

[131] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


continuity  in  it,  I  would  adopt  it.  I  am  never 
obstinate.  Come,  Madame,  let  us  hear  your  sys- 
tem, if  you  have  one." 

"  I  am  seekng  one,"  I  replied,  "  but  if  I  find  it,  I 
would  not  try  to  convert  you  to  it,  Monsieur  Littre. 
We  would  never  meet  where  I  am  endeavouring  to 
climb  above  humanity,  in  the  country  of  the  gods." 

"  What  one  can  reproach  you  with  the  most,  my 
dear  Littre,"  Dupont- White  added,  "  is  that  you 
reason  about  science  as  though  its  questions  were 
definitely  decided.  Cannot  the  discovery  to-morrow 
of  an  impalpable  atom  of  a  spark  upset  your  classi- 
fications from  top  to  bottom?  " 

"  How  truly  you  speak,  Dupont- White !  "  Tri- 
bert  then  said.  "  As  for  me,  I  am  so  full  of  curi- 
osity that  I  am  not  satisfied  with  what  science  has 
already  discovered,  and  I  will  not  leave  my  hope 
for  further  developments  at  the  doors  of  labora- 
tories." 

"  You  all  hunger  for  fantasy,  for  instability,  for 
the  unknown,  for  dreams  and  for  the  infinite,"  said 
Littre.  "I  do  not  feel  so  at  all.  I  have  a  positive 
and  settled  mind." 

"  That  is  why  Taine  already  surpasses  you  and 
will  leave  you  in  the  background,  my  dear  Littre," 
said  Dupont-White,  half  seriously.  "  His  mind  is 
so  thirsting  for  evolution  that  he  contradicts  him- 

[  132] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


self.  He  thinks  he  only  draws  geometrical  figures, 
and  he  creates  acting  entities.  This  scientific  man 
has  great  imagination;  and,  although  he  is  an 
analyst  and  critic,  he  has  a  most  affirmative  mind. 
In  all  his  researches,  and  in  no  matter  what  he  is 
seeking,  he  always  returns  to  his  own  opinions,  and 
he  revivifies  a  hundred  times  over  what  he  has 
dissected  once." 

"  I  admire  Taine,"  said  Littre.  "  Ah,  how  badly 
he  cut  Cousin  to  pieces !  He  knows  how  to  use  his 
arms.  A  mailed  knight,  he  strikes  and  thrusts, 
without  ever  being  touched  by  his  adversaries' 
weaker  swords.  One  of  his  most  glorious  victories 
is  to  have  won  over  Renouvier  from  eclecticism." 

"  He  will  convince  many  others,  you,  first  of  all, 
Littre.  At  all  events,  he  will  not  permit  you  to 
muzzle  science,  for  you  are  inclined  to  do  so.  Only, 
I  confess,  all  your  deficiencies  are  compensated  for 
by  a  most  superior  quality,  your  conscience.  When 
anything  is  proved  to  you,  even  if  it  upsets  all  your 
ideas,  you  admit  it.  Taine  will  shower  proofs  upon 
you." 

Littre  laughed  heartily. 

"  My  dear  Dupont-White,  with  your  impetuos- 
ity and  your  mind,  your  nature  is  absolutely  con- 
trary to  mine.  I  have  taken  from  positivism  all 
that  is  most  positive.     I  only  wonder  that  as  you 

[133] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


go  beyond  Stuart  Mill,  you  have  not  taken  from 
Comtism  its  most  imaginative  part — its  religion." 

"  Why,  Comte's  religion  is  as  destitute  of  true 
spirituality,  of  any  aspiration  towards  the  Here- 
after, as  your  most  materialized  laws.  You  know, 
Littre,  you  could  not  make  me  believe  that  all  that 
escapes  human  reason  can  be  shut  up  in  the  apart- 
ment of  the  Rue  Monsieur-le-Prince,  even  though 
it  were  aired  by  Pierre  Lafitte." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  Littre  replied  calmly,  "  you 
are  trying  to  be  witty ;  that  is  to  say,  you  are  talk- 
ing for  talk's  sake ;  you  are  imitating  one  of  your 
models.     Now,  you  are  copying  Stendhal." 

"  Littre !  how  do  you  dare  to  say  that  ?  "  cried 
Dupont-White,  angrily. 

"  Believe  me,  Monsieur  Littre,"  said  Tribert,  to 
calm  the  little  storm  about  to  break,  for  Dupont- 
White  was  quick-tempered,  and  although  fond  of 
bantering  others,  did  not  like  them  to  tease  him, 
"  believe  me,  your  immutable  law,  which,  according 
to  you,  contains  all  the  manifestations  of  life,  is 
too  fixed,  too  circumscribed  for  our  French  imag- 
ination." 

"  Your  immutable  and  perfect  law,"  I  said  in 
my  turn,  "  might  be  accepted,  in  an  extreme  case, 
for  the  body,  but  how  is  it  that  30U  have  no  allot- 
ment for  the  manifestations  of  intelligence?  " 

[  134] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


"  Because  there  is  no  unmixed  intelligence,"  re- 
plied Littre,  warmly ;  "  duality  exists.  The  phe- 
nomena of  the  mind  emanate  from  the  body  and 
are  subject  to  the  absolute  laws  that  govern  nature. 
There  is  no  light  apart  from  a  luminous  body,  no 
life  without  organs,  no  mind  without  matter." 

"  Mediums  arc  not  essences,"  I  replied.  "  The 
Homeric  past,  Monsieur  Littre,  has  given  us  such 
an  idea  of  the  poetry  of  things  that  we  have  a 
right  to  believe  that  the  future  will  show  us  some- 
thing better  than  your  absolute  law  with  its  brutal 
characteristics." 

"  Yes,  I  agree,  absolute  law  is  brutal  in  its  par- 
tial manifestations,"  Littre  answered,  "  but  in  its 
complete  action,  based  on  unchangeable  conditions 
of  proportionality  and  of  order,  it  gives  us  the 
conception  of  absolute  justice." 

I  protested,  saying: 

"  If  I  am  only  a  particle  of  dust  that  can  be 
swept  away  by  the  wind,  and  not  a  mind  that  can 
dominate  matter,  why  struggle  at  all  ?  r 

"  Because  the  law  that  governs  man  is  action." 

"  According  to  me,  man  must  be  governed  by 
mind  and  by  nature,  and  by  the  gods." 

"  My  poor  child,  you  will  not  open  the  theolog- 
ical circle,  even  with  your  Homer;  it  is  closed  for- 


ever ! " 


[135] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Encouraged  by  Madame  d'Agoult,  Dupont- 
White,  Tribert  and  de  Ronchaud,  who  applauded 
noiselessly,  I  replied: 

"Your  methodically  irresponsible  nature  exas- 
perates me.  I  wish  that  life  should  be  conscient  in 
everything,  everywhere.  What  you  say  and  what 
you  write  are  only  words.  Why  should  not  mine 
be  worth  as  much  as  yours  ?  Why  is  noise  silence  to 
you?  Why  does  what  we  see  convey  more  truth  to 
your  mind  than  what  we  do  not  see?  Just  as  you 
cannot  perceive  with  your  eyes  what  is  infinites- 
imally  small,  so  you  do  not  perceive  what  is  infi- 
nitely large.  You  conceive  the  universe  from  a 
mathematical  point  of  view.  I  conceive  it  from 
one  divine.  I  am,  at  all  events,  your  superior  in 
point  of  view  of  beauty." 

"  I  agree  to  that,"  Littre  gallantly  replied. 

"  Your  Positivism  is  worth  nothing  for  thought, 
which  it  stultifies ;  for  art,  whose  images  it  breaks ; 
for  social  progress,  which  it  immobilises;  for  moral 
progress,  which  it  renders  useless.     There !  " 

"  This  young  person  is  full  of  life,"  said  Du- 
pont-White.  "  What  do  you  think  of  her, 
Littre?" 

"  I  think  she  is  not  commonplace.  She  will,  I 
am  certain,  from  the  speed  at  which  she  is  going  in 
her  evolutions,  pass  through  all  the  cycles,  through 

[136] 


WITH  THE  SCIENTISTS 


which  humanity  itself  has  passed.  As  you  say,  my 
dear  Dupont-White,  she  has  great  aspirations 
towards  the  Hereafter.  We  will  certainly  see  this 
heathen  become  a  Christian." 

"  Which  would  not  displease  me,"  joined  in  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult,  "  were  it  only  to  enrage  de  Ron- 
chaud,   the  Hellenist   of  Lucipin-by-Claude." 


[137] 


CHAPTER    VIII 

MORE    FRIENDS 


HNE  fine  day  who  should  come  to  see  me  but 
Arles-Dufour  and  Lambert-Bey,  delegated 
by  the  Pere  Enfantin,  to  ask  me  to  preside  at  a 
banquet  which  the  heads  of  the  Saint-Simonian 
School  proposed  to  give  in  my  honour. 

I  hesitated  to  accept  it  in  spite  of  the  sponta- 
neous sympathy  with  which  Arles-Dufour  inspired 
me.  I  have  never  met  any  one  for  whom  I  felt  such 
a  sudden  filial  inclination.  The  first  time  he  called 
me  "  my  child,"  I  wished  to  answer  him  "  Father." 
He  had  a  noble  and  beautiful  face.  Very  simple 
in  his  speech  and  manner,  he  impressed  one  as  pos- 
sessing great  kindness  and  much  dignity.  This 
came,  perhaps,  from  the  fact  that  he  had  always 
thought  and  acted  with  perfect  freedom.  His 
dominant  passion,  he  said,  "  was  liberty  under  all 
its  forms,  even  eccentric  ones." 

Arles-Dufour  was  one  of  the  rare  Saint-Simo- 
nians  who  had  remained  convinced  of  the  integral 
truth  of  the  school's  principles.  All  his  life  he  had 
felt  an  intense  desire  to  raise  woman  from  the  state 
of  inferiority  in  which  he  found  her  in  France.     It 

[138] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


was  through  him,  at  Lyons,  that  the  first  woman 
was  made  a  Bachelor  of  Letters ;  he  took  great  in- 
terest in  governesses  and  women  doctors.  He  was 
very  generous.  He  devoted  a  certain  portion  of 
his  earnings  to  gifts  under  the  form  of  loans.  It 
was  the  bank  that  lent,  not  himself.  When  a  debtor 
reimbursed  his  loan,  it  went  to  the  bank.  When 
there  were  good  returns,  it  lent  a  great  deal;  when 
the  bank  was  exhausted,  nothing  was  given. 

Arles-Dufour  insisted  upon  my  accepting  his 
"  brothers'  "  and  friends'  banquet.  Lambert-Bey 
invited  me  especially  in  the  Pere  Enfantin's  name, 
who  saw  in  me,  as  Saint-Simon  had  seen  in  Madame 
de  Stael — fancy,  how  flattering  it  was ! — the  wom- 
an hoped  for  since  the  school's  foundation,  the 
legislative  woman,  the  feminine  Messiah,  the  male 
Messiah  having  been  incarnated  in  Enfantin. 

But  they  met  me  rather  too  late  to  help  the 
"  Pere  "  to  some  humanity,  notwithstanding  that 
I  thought  it  rather  too  early  for  me.  I  did  not  feel 
myself  sufficiently  matured  for  such  a  high  mission. 
Can  you  imagine  with  what  treasure  the  world  was 
to  be  endowed  ?  Nothing  less  than  the  golden  age ! 
The  Saint-Simonian's  motto  being :  "  The  golden 
age,  which  until  now  tradition  has  placed  in  the 
past,  is  at  hand." 

The    school    was    formed    after    Saint-Simon's 
10  [  139  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


death.  Enfantin,  who  had  been  introduced  to  its 
founder,  by  Olinde  Rodrigues,  went  preaching 
"  the  golden  age  of  the  future  "  in  all  the  cities, 
when  he  was  barely  catechised.  He  possessed  the 
faculty  of  drawing  crowds.  All  the  young  superior 
men,  or  those  who  were  simply  above,  belonged  to 
the  school  of  which  Enfantin  was  "  the  Father." 
Auguste  Comte,  Armand  Carrel,  Blanqui,  Pierre 
Leroux,  Jean  Reynaud,  Charton,  Arles-Dufour, 
Guerault,  Bazard,  Hippolyte  Carnot,  Michel  Chev- 
alier, Felicien  David,  Salabot,  D'Eichtal,  Emile 
Pereire,  Duveyrier,  Buchez,  Louis  Jourdan,  Jules 
Simon  and  many  others. 

After  the  Revolution  of  July,  the  weekly  lectures 
of  the  Rue  Taitbout  made  many  converts.  The 
"  Pere  "  and  his  sons  set  forth  in  these  lectures  the 
principle  that  all  social  institutions  should  have  as 
their  object  the  moral,  intellectual  and  physical 
amelioration  of  the  most  numerous  and  poorest 
class. 

A  great  metaphysical  current  fed  by  the  inher- 
itance of  Christianity,  made  useless  at  that  epoch 
by  Voltairian  France,  found  its  outlet  in  Saint- 
Simonism,  and  brought  to  its  fold  all  the  generous 
and  Utopian  souls  in  France,  who  aspired,  as  such 
souls  always  do,  and  at  all  epochs,  to  lend  their 
aid  to  social  evolutions.     As  long  as  the  Saint-Si- 

[140] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


monians  preached  their  doctrines  in  a  theoretical 
state,  Louis  Philippe's  government  tolerated  them 
and  their  newspaper,  Le  Globe.  But  when  the 
school  became  a  church,  and  it  was  necessary  to  es- 
tablish its  dogmas,  there  were  violent  discussions, 
even  among  "the  brothers,"  who  were  not  all  in 
perfect  accord  regarding  the  general  abolition  of 
the  privileges  of  birth,  the  total  transformation  of 
property,  the  necessity  of  suppressing  the  lower 
classes,  and  above  all,  Enfantin's  new  social  con- 
ception of  woman's  condition,  which  he  wished  to 
make  solely  an  object  of  pleasure. 

Olinde  Rodrigues,  Jean  Reynaud,  Bazard  and 
Hippolyte  Carnot,  whose  sense  of  morality  was 
revolted,  were  the  first  to  abandon  the  school,  re- 
fusing to  accept  the  idea  of  the  promiscuity  of 
woman,  as  Enfantin  desired  his  disciples  to  accept 
it.  When  the  schism  was  made,  there  only  remained 
forty  sons  who  submitted  to  the  "Pere's"  personal 
interpretation  of  the  doctrine,  all  of  whom  fol- 
lowed him  to  Menilmontant,  and  consented  to  de- 
vote themselves  to  manual  labour,  while  singing 
songs,  the  greater  part  of  which  were  composed  by 
Felicien  David.  Rosa  Bonheur's  father,  Raymond 
Bonheur,  designed  the  costume  of  these  extraordi- 
nary "  workmen."  Wearing  a  Southern  peasant's 
cap,  they  were  dressed  in  a  light-blue  cassock,  and 

[141] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


each  one  had  his  name  embroidered  on  his  robe, 
so  that  he  was  unmistakably  known  to  the 
others. 

Enfantin  wore  a  scarlet  vestment  gathered  about 
his  waist  with  a  violet-coloured  belt,  with  the  word 
"  Father  "  written  on  his  breast.  A  large  chain, 
made  of  metal  rings,  hung  round  "  the  Father's  " 
neck,  each  ring  representing  symbolically  one  of 
his  sons.  When  Jean  Reynaud,  Carnot,  Bazard 
and  Olinde  Rodrigues  left  him  definitely  Enfantin 
broke  four  rings  of  his  chain. 

The  gallery  in  which  the  brothers  met  to  work 
at  Menilmontant  was  on  a  level  with  a  garden,  full 
of  grand  old  trees.  A  long  table  and  benches  were 
the  sole  furniture  of  this  room,  where  forty  young 
men,  the  larger  part  laureates  of  great  schools,  did 
manual  labour. 

The  platform  of  the  Saint-Simonian's  doctrine 
is  known :  "  Education  for  all ;  equality  of  the 
sexes;  each  individual  to  receive  his  share  of  the 
common  goods  according  to  his  capacity  and  his 
work ;  enfranchisement  of  woman ;  suppression  of 
inheritance;  community  of  property;  destruction 
of  family." 

On  the  day  Lambert-Bey  and  Arles-Dufour  in- 
vited me  to  their  banquet,  I  remembered  the  irrup- 
tion of  a  woman  Messiah  one  day  at  Menilmontant, 

[  142] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


"  She  entered,"  say  the  Saint-Simonian  Chronicles, 
"  veiled  with  a  blue  veil,  young,  pretty,  mysterious, 
and  pronounced  these  simple  words :  '  I  wait.' 

"  They  brought  her  an  old  man.  She  refused 
him,  saying  he  had  no  passion.  A  young  man, 
whom  she  thought  had  not  sufficient  faith.  Her 
mother  rushed  into  the  room  in  a  rage,  and  carried 
off  her  daughter,  beating  her." 

If  I  had  accepted  the  banquet  would  they  have 
presented  the  old  man  and  the  young  man  to  me? 

The  end  of  Enfantin's  experiment  has  been  re- 
lated. The  press  openly  attacked  the  "  forty,"  de- 
nouncing them  and  accusing  them  of  all  possible 
vices.  Pere  Enfantin  and  his  sons  were  forced, 
one  day,  to  defend  themselves  before  the  courts, 
against  the  crimes  of  which  they  were  accused.  The 
"  forty  "  marched  through  the  streets,  clad  in  their 
costume  and  singing  Felicien  David's  chants. 
They  were  hooted,  but,  as  they  were  apostles,  ridi- 
cule did  not  touch  them.  Enfantin  passed  some 
months  in  prison,  and  then  was  pardoned.  The 
school  being  dispersed,  "  the  Father  "  and  his  sons 
left  for  Egypt,  and  there  studied  a  system  to  dam 
the  Nile  and  to  pierce  the  Isthmus  of  Suez. 

Enfantin  and  his  disciples  were  marvellously 
endowed  with  the  capacity  for  undertaking  great 
enterprises.     Later  they  were  to  be  found  laying 

[  143] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


out  roads,  digging  canals,  building  railroads.  Ben- 
jamin Constant  called  Saint-Simonism  "  industrial 
Papacy." 

It  was  the  Saint-Simonians  who  founded  public 
credit  societies,  all  the  great  shops  exploited  by 
capitalists,  and  gave  an  irresistible  impulsion  to 
monopolies  and  trusts.  Did  they  bestow  econom- 
ical benefit  on  the  society  of  their  day? 

When  I  arrived  in  Paris,  the  Phalansterians 
were  about  answering  the  question  in  this  wise: 
"  We  have  added,"  they  said,  "  to  capital,  partici- 
pation by  work.  The  Pereires,  who  were  Saint- 
Simonians,  founded  the  Magasins  du  Louvre;  we 
have  founded  the  Bon  Marche.  Their  principle  is 
summed  up  in  the  word  '  exploitation,'  ours  in 
*  participation.'  '  To  each  one  according  to  his 
work,'  was  the  Saint-Simonian  formula,  as  well  as 
it  was  our  own,  but  theirs  was  aristocratic.  Those 
who  rose,  among  the  Saint-Simonians,  did  not  draw 
up  with  them  the  initial  group  of  labourers,  and 
the  Saint-Simonian  apportionment,  and  its  labour- 
ers' participation  in  profits,  are  not  as  general  as 
ours,  nor  do  they  possess  the  greatness  of  the  Pha- 
lansterian  apportionment  and  participation." 

If  I  have  recounted  the  facts  I  have  here  men- 
tioned, it  is  because  we  were  obliged  to  be  cognizant 
of  them,  for  they  still  interested  those  with  whom 

[  144  ] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


we    conversed     every     day     and     who     were     our 
friends. 

I  did  not  accept  the  banquet,  but  I  went  one 
evening  with  Arles-Dufour  to  see  Pere  Enfantin 
and  thanked  him  for  the  honour  of  his  invitation, 
of  which  I  felt  myself  unworthy.  A  very  hand- 
some and  rather  stout  woman  received  us  with  him. 
Pere  Enfantin  evidently  retained  his  ideas  on  the 
complete  enfranchisement  of  woman. 

Although  Arles-Dufour  lived  at  Lyons,  he  fre- 
quently came  to  Paris.  He  adopted  me  little  by 
little,  as  he  said,  and  my  affection  for  him  increased 
whenever  I  saw  him  during  his  sojourns  at  Paris. 
He  spoke  of  me  to  Madame  Arles-Dufour  and  to 
his  children,  thus  preparing  for  me  their  incom- 
parable maternal  and  fraternal  affection,  which 
proved  one  of  the  greatest  happinesses  of  my  life. 
Arles-Dufour's  friendship — I  soon  called  him 
"  Father  "  according  to  his  desire — found  a  hun- 
dred ways  of  being  kind  and  of  use  to  me.  I  felt 
such  real  affection  for  him  that  I  soon  confided  all 
my  sorrows  to  him.  He  wrote  to  my  father,  and 
they  soon  took  common  care  of  me,  and  I  felt  that 
my  father,  who  was  afraid  of  my  husband's  threats, 
would  protect  me  in  a  firmer  manner,  now  that  he 
felt  himself  supported  in  his  defence  of  me,  by 
good,  influential  and  courageous  Arles-Dufour. 

[145] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


The  only  thing  in  which  Arles-Dufour  and  I 
did  not  agree  was  amusing.  He  would  not  admit 
that  the  Saint-Simonian  doctrine  could  be  con- 
demned on  a  single  point,  not  even  on  that  of  the 
excessive  emancipation  of  woman.  Now,  in  his 
private  life,  he  was  the  most  perfect  husband,  the 
most  devoted  father,  and  the  most  faithful  man 
possible  in  his  veneration  of  family  ties.  He  would 
have  been  very  severe  to  me  had  he  found  me  co- 
quettish, or  in  any  degree  light  in  conduct,  and 
then,  on  the  contrary,  he  would  proudly  quote  his 
friend  Stuart  Mill's  opinions,  "  the  greatest  of 
English  philosophers,"  he  said,  and  who,  having 
been  a  Saint-Simonian  for  a  short  time  and  then  a 
renegade,  did  not  cease,  however,  to  admire  the 
courage  with  which  the  School  confronted  the  ques- 
tion of  family,  and  its  boldness  in  proclaiming  the 
absolute  equality  of  man  and  woman. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  I  said,  "  my  venerated 
father,  the  Saint-Simonians  were  absurd,  because 
they  wished  to  reform  manners,  not  by  virtue,  but 
by  license.  Corruption  has  never  made  anything 
wholesome.  You  have  tried  to  turn  the  grandeur 
of  woman's  affection  towards  the  satisfaction  of 
present  enjoyment,  as  certain  of  Christ's  disciples 
wish  to  turn  this  feeling  towards  future  happiness. 
What  is  absolute  for  the  soul,  or  what  is  absolute 

[146] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


for  the  body  may  satisfy  the  individual.  But  from 
a  social  point  of  view  it  is  wrong.  Instead  of 
teaching  woman  how  she  may  find  great  comfort 
in  her  devotion  to  others,  you  have  thrown  her,  for 
food,  the  disorder  of  her  passions,  free  love.  There 
are  certain  obligations  necessary  to  preserve  a 
woman's  dignity,  which  she  cannot  find  outside  of 
social  duties,  nor  in  unbridled  love.  She  can 
satisfy  these  obligations  by  associating  herself  with 
man's  work,  and  by  sharing  his  cares.  She  can 
make  the  companion  of  her  life  recognize  that  her 
worth  is  equal  to  his  own,  not  in  identical  things, 
but  in  things  equivalent.  Woman  must  be  re- 
spected to  hold  power  over  her  children,  and  to 
retain  her  social  position." 

"  You   are   repeating   your  letter  to  Alphonse 

Karr  to  "     I  had  given  it  to  him  to  read — 

"  and  your  Anti-Proudhonian  ideas.  I  know  them 
all,"  Arles-Dufour  answered,  "  and  I  tell  you  once 
for  all,  and  declare  it  again,  that  woman's  beauty 
is  what  gives  her  her  superiority.  Flesh  must  be 
rehabilitated,  passion  is  divine.  God,  who  is  all- 
powerful,  has  given  the  dominating  power  of 
beauty  to  woman  to  establish  the  equilibrium  of 
power  in  man." 

"  Always  the   abominable   aristocratic   principle 
of    Saint-Simonism,"    I    replied;    "the    majority 

[147] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


slaves  for  life  to  the  superiority  of  beauty  or  cap- 
ital. A  royalty  that  only  benefits  a  small  number. 
I  will  never  admit  that.     I  am  a  Democrat." 

"  And  you  are  beautiful.  That  is  why  you 
judge  a  principle  from  a  personal  point  of  view. 
A  principle  is  not  necessarily  an  application." 

"  Then  it  is  no  longer  a  principle  if  it  cannot 
be  applied  necessarily." 

"Yes,   it   can." 

"  No,  it  cannot." 

Hippolyte  Carnot,  who  had  announced  that  he 
was  coming  to  see  me,  entered  just  as  I  was  answer- 
ing Arles-Dufour  rather  angrily.  We  told  him  of 
the  question  about  which  we  were  quarrelling. 

"  Egad !  "  he  said,  "  it  is  a  reminiscence  of  the 
Rue  Taitbout  lectures,  and  of  the  sitting  of  the 
court  when  Enfantin  was  condemned.  Do  you  re- 
member my  deposition,  Aries?  I  was  a  Saint-Si- 
monian  as  long  as  the  doctrine  preserved  a  philo- 
sophical character,  but  I  separated  from  my 
brothers  when  the  doctrine  bifurcated.  What  you 
are  upholding  against  Madame  Juliette  Lamber 
is  the  bifurcation,  and  she  is  perfectly  right." 

"  Well,  I  bifurcate,  that's  all,"  said  good  Arles- 
Dufour  ;  "  but  you  two  together  would  get  the  bet- 
ter of  me  too  easily.  I  leave  you  to  your  old 
prejudices." 

[148] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


When  known  intimately,  Hippolyte  Carnot  was 
one  of  the  most  interesting  and  charming  talkers 
to  whom  one  could  listen.  Small  in  stature,  not 
striking  in  appearance,  his  features,  however, 
greatly  resembled  those  of  Victor  Hugo,  but  with 
quite  a  different  expression,  for  his  was  a  sad  one. 
He  had  never  been  consoled  for  the  death  of  his 
brother  Sadi.  He  had  named  his  eldest  son  after 
him,  and  it  was  said  that  this  brother,  whom  he 
so  sincerely  mourned,  was  a  man  of  exceptional 
worth. 

I  liked  to  talk  with  Hippolyte  Carnot  of  the 
great  Carnot,  and  he  answered  with  a  sort  of  touch- 
ing gratitude  the  questions  one  asked  about  his 
father.  He  had  written  in  an  almost  sacred  manner 
concerning  him,  who  had  been  as  much  loved  as 
admired. 

Our  conversation  again  turned  that  day  on  the 
"  Organizer  of  our  Victories,"  and  on  his  first  inter- 
view with  Bonaparte. 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  "  was  the  very  first  person 
who  discovered  Napoleon's  military  genius.  He 
often  related  to  me  the  scenes  of  his  first  interviews 
with  him,  and  told  me  how  much  he  was  struck 
with  Napoleon's  powers  of  persuasion  when  dis- 
closing any  of  his  plans,  and  that  he  was  obliged 
to  call  up  all  his  strength  of  mind  to  escape  his  fas- 

[149] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


cination,  and  not  to  yield  to  a  sort  of  magnetic 
influence  and  suggestion  exercised  when  he  wished 
to  enforce  one  of  his  ideas,  rendered  thus  so  difficult 
of  discussion,  calmly  and  coldly. 

Hippolyte  Carnot  had  followed  his  father  to 
Magdeburg  and  had  there  married  the  daughter 
of  Colonel  Dupont,  aide-de-camp  to  the  great 
exile.  Madame  Hippolyte  Carnot  could  have  been 
given  as  an  admirable  example  of  wife  and  mother. 
She  was  a  woman  of  high  moral  and  intellectual 
standing  and  no  one  was  more  honoured  in  the 
Republican  party  than  herself.  She  was  spoken  of 
as  a  model  of  all  private  and  civic  virtues.  "  She 
is  a  soldier,"  her  husband  said,  and  we  Republicans 
esteemed  her  as  the  Romans  did  Cornelia.  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult  felt  great  respect  for  her,  and  sym- 
pathy with  her,  which  in  her  case  was  rare,  for  she 
was  not  lavish  in  such  feelings  towards  the  wives  of 
Republican  households,  such  as  Monsieur  Grevy's 
and  many  others.  She  had  remained  unconsciously 
an  aristocrat. 

"  Madame  Carnot  was  heroic  in  1851,"  Daniel 
Stern,  reassuming  her  role  of  historian,  said  to 
me.  "  She  encouraged  her  husband  to  take  up  arms 
against  Louis  Napoleon,  saying  to  him :  '  If  you 
die,  you  will  leave  your  sons  the  example  you  your- 
self   received    from    your    father.' "     Were    those 

[150] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


not  admirable  words,"   added   Madame  d'Agoult, 
"  worthy  of  the  heroines  of  all  ages?  " 

On  the  1st  of  January,  1859,  there  was  great 
commotion  in  France,  and  great  agitation  among 
us,  who  were  at  once  enemies  of  the  Empire  and 
partisans  of  Italian  unity,  on  reading  the  official 
words  spoken  by  Napoleon  III  to  the  Austrian 
Ambassador :  "  I  regret  that  our  relations  are  not  as 
amicable  as  they  have  formerly  been." 

Prince  Napoleon's  marriage  to  the  Princesse 
Clothilde,  daughter  of  Victor  Emmanuel,  officially 
announced  to  take  place  on  the  30th,  indorsed  the 
proof  that  the  Imperial  government  was  about 
to  realize  Orsini's  supreme  wish.  The  oath-takers 
triumphed,  saying  that  "  the  Five's  "  opposition 
had  alone  obliged  the  Emperor  to  enter  into  the 
liberal  pathway,  a  conversion  that  would  certainly 
force  him  to  take  a  step  towards  internal  liberal- 
ism. 

We  held  important  meetings  in  our  circle.  "  Was 
this  man,  the  oppressor  of  France,  about  to  become 
the  dispenser  of  national  liberty  in  other  countries  ? 
Much  was  said  about  the  mysterious  ways  of  Provi- 
dence, or  the  superior  logic  of  facts,  according  as 
persons  were  believers  or  free-thinkers.  "  At  all 
events,"  they  said,  "  tyranny  had  received  a  slight 
blow."  [  151  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


I  had  learned  my  political  a,  b,  c,  very  young 
in  the  Democratic  Pacifique,  and  Toussenel  had 
always  held  the  place  of  initiator  to  me.  I  was 
grieved  that  he  had  never  replied  to  me  when  I 
sent  him  my  Idees  Anti-Proudhoniennes ;  but,  one 
day,  Doctor  de  Bonnard,  when  speaking  of  my 
book  to  him,  saw  him  strike  his  forehead,  look  dis- 
tressed and  run  to  a  drawer,  from  which  he  took 
out  a  letter  addressed  to  me,  and  dated  October  7, 
1858.  On  his  departure  for  a  hunting  expedition 
he  had  forgotten  to  send  the  letter  to  me. 

Toussenel  complimented  me  warmly.  "  I  real- 
ized," he  said,  "  the  formula  of  the  falcon."  The 
author  of  L'Esprit  des  Betes,  as  is  known,  judged 
of  men's  minds  by  their  likeness  to  the  minds  of  ani- 
mals, which  brought  down  upon  him  much  ridicule 
or  indignant  protestation.  The  falcon,  being  a 
bird  superior  to  all  others,  furnished  Toussenel  this 
reflection :  that  "  the  rank  of  a  species  corresponds 
to  the  female's  intelligence."  His  formula  of  the 
falcon  was  thus  resumed :  "  Individual  happiness 
is  commensurate  with  the  woman's  superiority. 
And,"  he  added,  "  woman,  in  the  future,  will  lead  to 
man's  reconciliation  with  the  Universe." 

Notwithstanding  the  blow  suffered  by  the  Fou- 
rierite  sect  through  Victor  Considerant's  failure  in 
Texas,  it  was  still  the  most  vital  of  all.    This  check, 

[  152] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


caused  by  an  almost  childish  want  of  thought,  had 
crushed  out  all  hope  of  a  new  life,  all  enthusiasm 
towards  complete  social  regeneration. 

At  the  time  when  Victor  Considerant  made  a 
campaign  in  the  Democratic  Pacifique,  in  favour 
of  a  "  commune  in  partnership,"  which  was  to  be 
founded  in  Texas,  near  the  Red  River,  and  was  to 
be  called  the  "  Reunion,"  subscriptions  poured  in 
from  all  parts  of  the  globe.  One  of  the  subscribers 
for  a  very  large  sum  was  an  American,  Albert 
Brisbane.  At  last  one  of  Fourier's  conceptions 
was  to  be  realized ! 

But  Victor  Considerant,  who  had  resigned  his 
promising  military  career,  and  had  suddenly  be- 
come a  journalist,  and  the  successful  founder  of 
La  Democratic  Pacifique,  did  not  possess  either  the 
faculty  necessary  for  an  organizer  or  a  legislator. 
He  was  an  apostle,  nothing  more,  but  an  irresist- 
ible one,  alas  !  People  went  to  him  from  all  corners 
of  the  world,  and  the  affluence  was  so  great  in 
Texas  that  the  funds  soon  began  to  give  out;  and 
material  and  moral  disorder  became  so  great  that 
the  "  Reunion  "  was  universally  shipwrecked. 

The  Paris  central  seat  of  the  "  Phalansterian 
sect  "  was  its  library  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune,  man- 
aged by  an  old  maid,  Mademoiselle  Aimee  Beuque, 
who,  having  known  Fourier  at  Lyons,  was  one  of 

[  153] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


his  first  disciples  when  he  was  only  a  commercial 
traveller,  and  lived  in  a  sphere  but  little  favourable 
to  the  developments  of  his  ideas.  Mademoiselle 
Beuque  used  her  influence  over  one  of  her  intimate 
friends,  a  certain  Captain  Gouthier,  officer  of  en- 
gineers, to  bring  him  into  the  pale  of  Fourierism, 
who,  in  turn,  converted  a  great  number  of  his 
brother  officers  to  the  Phalansterian  doctrine.  She 
was  the  moving  spirit  of  the  library  of  the 
"  School."  In  a  poor  little  puny  body  lived  a 
great  soul,  marvellously  idealistic,  and  overflowing 
with  the  love  for  social  harmony.  "  Aunt 
Beuque,"  as  they  called  her,  with  a  large  wine- 
stain  on  her  face,  clad  in  a  coarse  black  woollen 
dress,  and  wearing  a  black  poke  bonnet  with 
wide  strings,  which  she  never  laid  aside,  was  at 
first  sight  but  little  attractive.  She  never  went 
out  without  carrying  a  bag,  half  hand-basket, 
half  reticule.  But  if  one  talked  with  her,  grew 
to  know  this  very  small  person,  of  whom  scarce 
anything  remained,  so  much  had  she  spent  and  ex- 
hausted herself  for  her  cause,  one  grew  fond  of  her, 
and  to  portray  this  superior  soul,  whose  personal 
appearance  was  that  of  an  ugly  little  creature,  one 
could  only  use  the  words,  "  She  is  adorable !  "  The 
Phalansterians  loved  her  with  all  their  hearts. 
Kindness,  faith,  the  perpetual  sacrifice  of  herself 

[  154] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


to  Fourier's  ideas,  gave  character  to  her  phys- 
iognomy, shone  in  her  eyes  and  lent  to  her  smile 
the  supreme  contentment  of  a  pure  conscience  to 
such  a  degree  that  it  cannot  be  described,  and 
which,  after  so  many  years,  I  have  never  forgotten. 

When  I  returned  from  a  visit  to  Mademoiselle 
Beuque  with  Doctor  de  Bonnard,  who  had  taken  me 
to  the  Phalansterian  library,  I  felt  I  would  be  a 
life-long  friend  to  dear  little  old  Beuque.  No  one 
talked  of  Fourier  as  she  did,  no  one  believed,  as  she 
did,  that  his  doctrines  were  about  to  be  realized. 
Ah!  how  far  we  were  then  from  this  present  day, 
when  "  Apaches  "  are  extolled !  All  that  was  noble, 
generous  and  kind  in  man  was  developed.  Progress 
began  to  be  made  in  the  sense  desired  by  Fourier. 
Attempts  at  co-operation  commenced  to  blossom 
everywhere.  The  Lectere  Company,  an  associa- 
tion of  workmen,  based  on  the  principles  of  Pha- 
lansterian co-operation,  distributed  profits  to  its 
members;  the  Guise  establishment,  into  which  my 
father  wished  to  enter,  was  in  a  prosperous  con- 
dition. 

Mademoiselle  Beuque  worked  with  all  her  might, 
which  was  not  little,  in  spreading  practical  Fourier- 
ite  ideas,  and  she  pondered  over  in  her  heart  all  her 
master's  dreams  of  the  laws  of  perfectibility  and  of 
universal  harmony.  She  would  talk  in  secret  to  me 
11  [  155  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


as  a  believer  does,  who  wishes  to  inspire  a  friend  with 
her  own  belief,  repeating  Fourier's  words :  "  The 
motion  of  the  planets  co-operate  in  harmony ;  cat- 
aclysms, the  chaos  of  ideas,  evil,  under  all  its  forms, 
are  only  passing  accidents,  common  to  the  universe 
and  to  man.  Let  us  work,  therefore,  to  assure  per- 
fect equilibrium  and  definite  goodness." 

"  Fourier  is  the  greatest  of  all  founders  of  sects," 
said  dear  little  old  Beuque,  "  and  from  his  doc- 
trine will  spring  in  the  future  the  largest  sum  of 
social  good." 

Have  not  co-operative  societies  for  articles  of 
food,  and  associations,  formed  on  the  plan  con- 
ceived by  Fourier,  multiplied  everywhere?  The 
Utopian  idea  of  Phalanstery  has,  of  course,  died 
out.  It  is  probable  that  men  will  never  associate 
to  discover  the  three  factors  of  harmony — "  the 
Composite,  the  Cabalistic  and  the  Papilionaceous  " 
— but  the  association  of  men  of  the  same  trade,  the 
division  of  the  produce  of  the  association  between 
capital,  labour  and  talent,  are  ideas  which  have 
never  ceased  to  grow  and  to  be  developed.  Capital, 
labour,  intelligence,  these  three  little  words  con- 
tain the  whole  meaning  of  the  evolutions  of  modern 
society. 

I  often  went  to  the  Rue  de  Beaune  to  see  my  old 
friend,  Beuque.     Whenever  I  felt  sick  at  heart  at 

[156] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


all  the  mean,  base  things  which  the  most  optimistic 
among  us  daily  discover  in  life,  I  found  extraor- 
dinary peace  and  comfort  in  her  society.  How 
could  one  help  believing  in  goodness,  its  power,  its 
final  victory,  when  under  the  influence  of  one  whose 
faith  was  so  admirable? 

Toussenel  had  returned  from  a  hunting  expedi- 
tion. Without  the  least  exaggeration,  Toussenel's 
portrait  could  be  painted  in  the  most  attractive 
colours  as  that  of  an  upright,  honourable  man, 
devoted,  even  to  the  extent  of  sacrificing  his  own 
physical  and  intellectual  being,  to  a  doctrine  which 
combined  in  a  strange  manner,  Utopian  ideas  and 
common  sense.  He  was  both  a  profound  observer 
and  an  idealist,  logical  and  far-seeing,  and  as  a 
conversationalist  spontaneous,  paradoxical  and 
precise.  No  Parisian  was  more  full  of  wit,  and  his 
presence  transformed  the  shabby  little  library  into 
a  brilliant  and  attractive  abode.  His  descriptive 
conversation  embraced  a  variety  of  subjects:  won- 
ders of  nature  and  their  unsuspected  secrets ;  the 
animal  mind,  with  its  rules,  its  memory  and  its 
stratagems ;  art,  philosophy,  pure,  classical  tradi- 
tion; the  worship  of  beauty,  and  a  fanciful  and 
new  idea  of  the  future  state. 

Although  the  expression  was  not  as  much  in  use 
then  as  now,  Toussenel  was  what  might  be  called 

[157] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  a  sporting  man."  His  face  was  bronzed  by  con- 
stant exposure  to  the  air.  He  was  well  built,  and 
his  active  life  had  made  him  supple.  A  daily  coun- 
try walk  of  thirty  miles  was  nothing  to  him.  He 
felt  himself  penned  up  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune,  and 
he  came  and  went  at  will.  His  frequent  absences 
were  a  source  of  grief  to  his  many  friends,  and  his 
return  was  always  hailed  with  joy.  His  acquaint- 
ances meeting  in  the  streets  would  say :  "  You  know, 
Toussenel  is  in  Paris."  His  friends  would  then 
hasten  to  the  little  shop  to  welcome  back  "  the  dear 
home-comer,"  as  we  called  him,  and  whom  Aunt 
Beuque  accused  of  too  much  gadding. 

When  Toussenel  and  his  old  friend  began  talk- 
ing of  "  the  School,"  their  two  hearts  beat  as  one, 
and  their  lives  were  illumined  with  a  light  visible 
to  all.  And  yet  neither  of  them  had  tasted  of  life's 
pleasures,  even  to  the  extent  of  those  which  may  be 
had  at  moderate  cost.  Both  were  poor,  and  often 
"  old  Beuque,"  at  the  cost  of  personal  privations, 
would  amplify,  in  the  library  accounts,  the  sale  of 
Toussenel's  books.  They  were  so  patient  in  their 
daily  struggle  for  life.  Their  simplicity  and  their 
cheerful  good-humour  were  so  admirable.  They 
were  so  evidently  conscious  of  their  moral  supe- 
riority, of  the  uselessness  of  a  complexity  of  wants, 
of  the  fancies  and  desires  that  wealth  brings,  and 

[158] 


MORE  FRIENDS 


were  so  happy  in  their  dream-life  that  one  almost 
envied  them. 

One  thing  alone  had  power  to  ruffle  Toussenel's 
customary  serenity.  He  was  as  a  rule  gentle  and 
conciliatory,  but  whenever  mention  was  made  of 
"  the  spectre  of  the  2d  of  December  "  he  became 
loud  and  violent  in  his  conversation.  He  accused 
the  Empire  of  having  put  an  end  to  the  develop- 
ment of  Fourier's  ideas  and  of  having  rendered 
France  barren,  just  at  the  moment  when  she  was 
ready  for  a  new  social  birth. 

"  And  who  can  tell,"  he  added,  "  whether  this 
moment  will  ever  return,  and  whether  the  social 
evil,  which  is  now  only  accidental  in  France,  is  not 
destined  to  become  chronic?  Tyrannical  industry 
and  Jewish  capital,  protected  and  supported  just 
at  the  very  time  when  they  should  have  been  forced 
to  succumb  to  the  laws  of  association,  with  labour 
and  intelligence  combined,  create  an  abnormal 
state  of  things  which  some  day  may  drive  the 
country  wild." 

His  book  Les  Jeufs,  Rois  de  l'Epoque,  dated 
from  1844.  Even  then  he  described  them  as  de- 
vouring France.  When  I  first  knew  him,  he 
ascribed  the  moral  depression  which  at  that  time 
reigned  in  France  to  the  Empire  and  to  the  Jews. 
He  ridiculed  in  the  most  scathing  manner  Millaud 

[159] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


and  Mires,  "  for  their  issuing  of  stocks  which  began 
by  assuring  profit  to  money  before  an  hour's  work 
had  been  done." 

Stock -jobbing  was  Toussenel's  pet  aversion. 

"  The  French  conscience  and  French  honour," 
he  said,  "  the  most  fastidious  in  the  world,  would 
certainly  succumb  in  the  moral  storm  raised  by  the 
troubled  elements  of  speculation.  Credit  and 
brains  will  soon  be  in  the  hands  of  the  Jews,"  he 
continued.  "  They  have  already  exercised  their 
fatal  influence  on  the  press.  There  will  come  a  day 
when  all  things  can  be  bought  in  France,  and  we 
will  then  have  the  German  invasion,  patronized  by 
Jewish  feudalism." 

Toussenel's  L'Esprit  des  Betes  and  his  Monde 
des  Oiseaux  are  two  masterpieces ;  written  in  a 
clear  language,  and  full  of  colour,  his  descriptions 
of  nature  and  his  portraits  of  animal  life  are  emi- 
nently lifelike.  He  makes  animals  take  part  in 
the  poetry  of  living  and  inanimate  things.  When 
you  had  read  or  listened  to  him,  you  looked  at 
animals  through  changed  eyes,  and  felt,  if  such  an 
expression  can  be  used  without  bringing  up  smiles, 
in  relationship  with  them.  Yet,  by  a  singular  con- 
tradiction, in  spite  of  his  tender  feeling  for  birds 
and  his  brotherly  love  for  animals,  Toussenel  was 
passionately  fond  of  hunting.   In  character,  he  was 

[160] 


mm:  rjat-r 


MORE    FRIENDS 


a  true  Gaul.  It  was  in  seeking  combat  that  he 
found  poetry.  All  things  spoke  a  language  to  him ; 
nature,  the  entire  world,  "  talked  to  him,"  as  he 
said.  The  planets,  the  air,  water  and  the  wind, 
trees  and  flowers  conversed  with  him,  as  did  animals. 
Warrior  and  bard  at  once,  he  would  count  with 
pride  the  heads  of  the  game  he  had  killed,  and  then, 
as  poet,  would  write  a  sonnet  to  all  living  things. 


[161] 


CHAPTER    IX 


OTHER     DRAWING-ROOMS     AND     ITALIAN     LIBERTY 


HNE  evening  at  the  house  of  Doctor  Ivan  and 
of  Madame  Reybaud,  the  only  authoress 
who  could  be  in  a  certain  degree  compared  to 
George  Sand,  Toussenel  spoke  rather  cruelly  of 
Michelet. 

I  had  been  taken  to  this  very  literary  drawing- 
room  by  Arles-Dufour,  Doctor  Ivan  having  con- 
tinued to  be  a  Saint-Simonian,  like  my  old  friend. 
I  met  the  Pere  Enfantin  there  again  with  the  hand- 
some woman  who  accompanied  him  everywhere; 
Charles  Didier,  the  author  of  Rome  Souterraine, 
was  also  present,  already  unhappy  at  his  wife's 
intimacy  with  Monsieur  Rey.  Being  an  austere 
Protestant,  he  did  not  wish  to  challenge  his  rival 
to  a  duel,  but  when  he  was  convinced  that  his  wife 
was  unfaithful  to  him,  he  blew  out  his  own  brains. 
Father  Hue,  who  was  also  one  of  the  guests  that 
evening,  interested  us  greatly  with  his  vivid 
descriptions  of  the  Chinese.  He  made  us  see  with 
our  own  eyes,  as  it  were,  what  he  had  really  seen 
with  his.     His  stories  about  the  intelligence  of  the 

[162] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

Chinese  gave  me  the  first  idea  of  writing  my  book 
Mandarin. 

Toussencl,  led  to  answer  a  question  asked  by 
Doctor  Ivan,  apropos  of  Michelet's  Oiseaux, 
which  answer  the  master  of  the  house  thought 
inexact,  replied: 

"  How  can  you  expect  that  a  man  who  takes  his 
observations  only  in  a  room  or  library  can  know 
anything  about  birds?  The  best  things  in  Miche- 
let's two  books  on  birds  and  insects  are  what  he 
has  borrowed  from  me.  I  only  reproach  him  with 
one  thing :  not  to  have  copied  me  entirely,  while  he 
was  at  it.  If  I  were  to  read  you  certain  of  Miche- 
let's pages  and  certain  of  mine,  you  would  see 
that  the  way  in  which  he  has  taken  the  mark  off  my 
linen  is  either  cynical  or  artless,  at  your  choice. 
No,  I  cannot  admit  that  this  city-bred  man,  blinded 
by  gas-lamps,  should  pretend  to  paint  the  star-lit 
heavens  shining  over  vast  plains,  nor  that  this 
frequenter  of  the  Luxembourg  gardens  should  talk 
to  us  about  limitless  horizons.  I  assure  you,  all 
that  he  does  know  well  are  the  sparrows,  badly 
trained  by  small  boys  of  the  Place  Saint-Sulpice, 
and  the  mosquitoes  of  the  Seine. 

As  he  was  leaving,  Toussenel  asked  me  if  I  were 
going  the  next  day  to  the  Rue  de  Beaune.  It  was 
the  day  on  which  our  old  Beuque's  friends  ahvays 
went  to  see  her. 

[163] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  and  I  will  meet  you  there,  but 
don't  go  off  hunting." 

"  Heaven  forbid !  For  once  I  will  play  the  role 
of  a  lark  and  let  myself  be  taken  by " 

"  The  mirror  of  my  eyes,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  you  say." 

When  I  arrived  at  the  Rue  de  Beaune,  Tous- 
senel  was  very  angry,  although  they  were  not  talk- 
ing of  the  2d  of  December.  He  was  having  a  dis- 
cussion with  Courbet.  Loving,  as  I  myself  did, 
everything  that  was  Grecian,  he  worshipped 
Beauty  in  Art,  and  Courbet  was  making  stupid  fun 
of  the  "  Beautyites,"  as  he  called  them,  "  perched 
between  heaven  and  earth,  and  who  had  lost  view 
of  real  life." 

"  That  is  the  stupid  remark  my  friend  Courbet 
has  given  birth  to,"  said  Toussenel,  repeating 
the  phrase  to  me. 

"  I  meant  to  say,"  added  Courbet,  addressing 
himself  to  me,  "  that  the  Greeks  bore  me,  because 
they  always  wish  to  give  divine  attributes  to  man. 
Now,  man  is  man ;  and  he  must  be  left  as  such." 

"  You,  whom  I  find  worthy  of  the  name  of  artist, 
not  when  you  choose  your  models  from  what  is  the 
most  coarse  in  some  village,  or  when  you  make 
ugliness  realistic,"  said  Toussenel,  "  and  not  when 
you  copy  it  as  ugly  as  it  is,  and  furnish  pages  of 

[164] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

bad  socialism  to  your  friend  and  brother  Proudhon 
by  your  fat  peasant  women,  but  when  you  give  a 
soul  to  your  animals.  You  know  them,  as  Michelet 
does  not.  You  have  lived  among  them.  How  is  it 
that  you  cannot  understand  that  when  man  paints 
man  he  should  spiritualize  him  by  beauty?  You 
give  to  animals  something  superior  to  that  which 
you  see  in  them.  Your  roes,  your  squirrels,  your 
stags,  even  your  landscapes  have  souls,  because  you 
have  not  determined  to  paint  them  ugly.  At  the 
rate  you,  the  master  of  realism,  are  going,  you  will 
soon  only  seek  as  your  human  models,  those  who 
have  some  physical  defect.  Ugliness  will  not  sat- 
isfy you.  I,  you  see,  like  my  young  Athenian 
friend,  here  present,  have  but  one  creed  in  Art :  the 
search  for  eternal  Beauty." 

"  Beauty,"  replied  Courbet,  "  is  an  accident  in 
life,  and  is  only  relative  in  the  universe.  Both 
Chinese  and  Japanese  art  is  art,  and  yet  they  do 
not  express  either  your  ideas  of  soul  or  of  beauty. 
I  give  my  animals  soul?  What  are  you  talking 
about?  I  put  desire  in  their  bellies  and  in  their 
eyes,  and  hunger  in  their  jaws.  I  make  them  live. 
That's  all !  " 

Eugene  Nus,  Victor  Hennequin  and  Leconte  de 
Lisle  came  in,  one  after  the  other,  and  listened  to 
Toussenel. 

[  165] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Of  what  use  is  your  mad  love  of  beauty  in 
such  an  ugly,  horribly  ugly  world?  "  continued 
Courbet.  "  You,  Hennequin  and  Nus,  will  say  it 
is  a  foretaste  of  heaven.  The  soul,  a  future  life; 
that's  all  humbug !  That  which  dies,  dies.  Death 
is  a  strangling  sensation  that  makes  us  draw  an 
ugly  grimace.    That  is  all  I  know." 

"  You  brute !  "  cried  out  Toussenel,  who  treated 
Courbet  as  one  would  treat  a  wild  beast ;  "  I  will  tell 
you  what  I  think  of  death.  I  have  described  it 
many  times,  but  you  never  read.  Death  is  the  giver 
of  freedom,  to  whose  breast  we  should  fly  with  the 
joy  of  a  captive  released  from  his  prison.  You 
may  believe  me,  or  not,  as  you  choose.  But  I  felt 
death  once,  and  was  only  recalled  to  life  by  a 
miracle.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  luminous  circles 
through  which  the  soul  passes  that  has  lived  an 
irreproachable  life  on  earth.  After  death  I  am 
certain  comes  a  most  delicious  state  of  immaterial 
beatitude,  a  rapturous  sensation  of  happiness, 
an  expanding  of  the  soul  floating  in  the  ether,  and 
freed  at  last  from  its  fleshy  envelope,  which  was 
changeable  and  corrupt." 

"  What  a  jargon  of  bombastic  words,"  replied 
Courbet,  "  which  will  not  serve  you  much  when  you 
talk  to  me  of  your  Greece,  of  your  flesh  and  blood 
Olympian   gods,   of   your   celebrated   old   men   of 

[166] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

Rome  and  Athens  who  promenade  their  ponderous 
shades  through  your  Elysian  Fields." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  talking  jargon.  You  con- 
found mythological  figurations  with  models  of 
eternal  art  and  of  religious  belief.  Besides  which, 
you  cannot  understand,  I  see,  anything  about  the 
soul,  because  you  deny  its  existence,  and  that 
proves  that  you  are  without  one." 

Courbet  could  not  live  without  Toussenel.  They 
always  took  their  meals  together  at  a  cafe  in  the 
Rue  de  Bac,  when  they  were  in  Paris. 

Toussenel  proclaimed  everywhere  that  he  had 
a  Greek  and  a  Gaul.  I  used  to  call  him  "  my  ad- 
mirer." He  wrote  me  delightful  letters,  sometimes 
a  little  cold,  because  people  told  him  maliciously 
that  I  laughed  at  his  rather  mature  adoration.  I 
select  the  first  that  comes  to  my  hand  from  many 
among  his  letters,  which  begins  thus : 

"  I  cannot  write  to  you  without  telling  you  how 
much  I  love  you,  and  I  am  unable  to  say  I  love  you, 
without  exposing  myself  afresh  to  some  cruel  in- 
discretion on  your  part.  My  affection  for  you  is, 
however,  so  pure  and  disinterested  that  it  should 
not  be  mocked.  Those  who  love  for  love's  sake, 
and  ask  nothing  from  the  object  of  their  affection, 
should  at  least  be   protected   from  the   disfavour 

r  167  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


which  very  justly  falls  on  those  who  are  selfish 
and  ambitious.  But  a  truce  to  reproaches.  It 
is  not  your  fault  that  you  hold  such  a  large  place 
in  my  life,  and  I  such  a  small  one  in  yours.  I  am 
not  writing  to  seek  pity,  but  to  tell  you  that  when- 
ever any  happiness  comes  to  you,  you  may  know 
that  a  wish  of  mine  has  been  fulfilled. 

"  Yours  in  heart,  mind  and  soul, 

"  Toussenel." 

I  had  not  been  to  a  fancy-dress  ball  since  the  one 
given  by  Alexandre  Weill.  Madame  O'Connell, 
the  artist,  had  sent  out  invitations  for  one  to  which 
I  was  invited. 

Adam-Salomon,  whom  I  saw  frequently  after 
he  had  taken  m}r  photograph  for  Madame 
d'Agoult's  album,  and  to  whom  I  was  beginning 
to  sit  for  a  bust,  was  to  accompany  me  to  it.  Ma- 
dame Adam-Salomon  and  myself  had  become  very 
intimate  friends. 

Adam-Salomon  and  his  wife  saw  Monsieur  de 
Lamartine  every  day,  whom  they  warmly  admired 
and  upheld.  The  great  poet,  much  calumniated 
and  abandoned,  ruined  his  material  position  more 
and  more,  because  he  did  not  take  the  possibilities 
of  life  into  sufficient  consideration.  I  was  aston- 
ished at  hearing  him  one  day  at  my  friend's  house 

[168] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

counting  up  the  profits  of  the  Cours  familier  de 
Litterature,  the  subscriptions  to  which,  after 
having  been  very  numerous,  were  then  beginning 
to  decline.  This  publication  should  have  made 
him  rich;  it  would  have  brought  in  enormous  sum 
if 

Those  ifs  of  the  great  poet  were  childish. 
What  a  noble  and  beautiful  face  he  had,  and  how 
it  would  light  up  when  he  spoke,  alas !  very  rarely, 
of  letters,  art  or  politics,  but  if  he  reverted  to  his 
"  business  affairs,"  his  face  would  become  sombre 
and  contracted,  and  he  would  then  talk  of  nothing 
but  figures,  and  such  absurd  figures ! 

I  really  suffered  when  I  met  Monsieur  de  Lamar- 
tine  at  Adam-Salomon's,  and  I  confess  that  I 
avoided  him,  wishing  to  keep  his  image  intact  in 
my  mind,  as  I  remembered  it  from  his  books,  his 
great  poetical  dreams,  and  from  some  of  his  delight- 
ful conversation  to  which  I  had  listened.  He  had 
asked  Madame  Adam-Salomon  to  allow  him  to 
write  the  preface  of  a  small  book  of  hers,  which 
was  very  highly  spoken  of,  L'Education,  from 
Hoei-Pan. 

I  met  at  my  friends,  the  Adam-Salomons',  one 
of  Monsieur  de  Lamartine's  nieces,  the  Comtesse 
de  Pierreclos,  whom  I  often  saw  afterward  at 
Madame   d'Agoult's,    and   who   was    certainly   the 

[169] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


most  extraordinary  woman  of  our  circle.  She  was 
very  tall  and  masculine  in  appearance,  but  per- 
fectly lady-like  in  manner.  She  spent  part  of  the 
year  in  the  country,  and  she  was  the  living  type  of 
an  eighteenth  century  wit.  Whenever  she  left 
Paris,  we  simply  devoured  the  letters  she  sent  to 
us,  which  were  the  wittiest  and  often  the  most 
audacious  one  could  read.  There  was  no  word  too 
daring  for  her  use,  but  when  written  by  the  Com- 
tesse  de  Pierreclos,  the  word  wore  a  certain  air  of 
having  been  written  by  authors  of  a  former  age, 
and  shocked  no  one.  She  was  an  exquisite  talker, 
and  never  discoursed,  and  she  told  a  story  in  a 
manner  that  made  her  hearers  think  that  not  only 
had  they  taken  part  in  it,  but  that  they  were  almost 
telling  it  themselves. 

To  give  you  an  example  of  her  way  of  relating, 
I  choose  one  story  from  a  thousand  others. 

"  Would  you  believe  that  I  had  inspired  Mon- 
sieur de  Rambuteau  with  a  passion  for  me?  " 

"  But  Monsieur  de  Rambuteau  died  quite  old, 
some  years  ago." 

"  Well,  it  was  just  about  that  time  that  he  enter- 
tained quite  a  mad  love  for  me." 

"Tell  us  about  it." 

"  Oh !  his  avowal  of  love !    How  do  men  generally 
tell  their  love?  " 

[  170] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIMvRTY 


"  In  sweet  and  loving  words." 

"  And  in  what  position  ?  " 

"  On  their  knees." 

"  Exactly  so.  Well,  Monsieur  de  Rambuteau, 
with  much  trouble,  got  down  on  his  knees  to  tell  me 
of  Ins  love;  he  used  the  most  charming  language, 
such  as : 

"  '  Fair  lady,  my  heart  is  torn  asunder,  and  can 
only  be  sewed  together  by  your  hands.'  Isn't  that 
pretty  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  charming !  " 

"  My  admirer  was  leaning  with  clasped  hands 
against  my  knees.  He  talked  and  talked  and  be- 
came more  and  more  excited.  Guess  what  my 
answer  was?  " 

"  I  too  love  you?  " 

«  No !  " 

"  My  flame  reciprocates  your  own  ?  " 

"  That  would  have  been  too  weak." 

"Mercy!     What  then?  " 

"  I  am  yours." 

"  I  threw  myself  back  in  my  chair,  thus  taking 
away  from  him  the  support  of  my  knees.  Monsieur 
de  Rambuteau  fell  forward,  and  groaned;  I  rang 
for  my  maid  to  pick  him  up,  which  was  not  an  easy 
matter." 

"  That  was  one  of  the  most  dangerous  adven- 
12  [  171  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


tures  of  my  life,"  added  Madame  de  Pierreclos, 
gravely. 

You  can  imagine  the  success  her  story  had. 

Madame  de  Pierreclos's  younger  sister,  Mile. 
Valentine  de  Cessiat,  another  of  Monsieur  de  La- 
martine's  nieces,  who  lived  with  him  and  became 
his  secretary,  was  most  indignant  at  Madame  de 
Pierreclos's  free  manner  of  speaking. 

"I  say  much,  but  do  little,"  was  the  answer  this 
haughty  lady  gave  to  a  rather  severe  speech  her 
sister  once  made  to  her. 

Madame  de  Lamartine  shut  her  ears  to  Madame 
de  Pierreclos's  free  conversation,  or  else  did  not 
understand  it.  Monsieur  de  Lamartine  said  with 
a  smile: 

"  We  have  always  had  some  one  like  her  in  our 
family.  In  former  days  it  was  a  less  unusual  event. 
Coarse  things  alone  shock  me,  but  I  rather  like  to 
listen  to  what  has  a  little  Gaulish  salt  in  it."  But 
it  was  seldom  that  Monsieur  de  Lamartine  ever 
listened. 

Madame  de  Pierreclos  once,  when  angry  with 
her  sister,  told  me  herself  of  this  scene.  She  had 
great  confidence  in  me,  and  I  was  very  fond  of  her, 
and  she  amused  me  immensely.  After  her  death, 
we  wished  to  publish  her  letters,  but  her  daughter, 
Madame  de  Parceval,  objected.     It  may  seem  cu- 

[172] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

rious,  but  the  actual  interest  in  Madame  de  Picrre- 
clos's  stories  having  come  to  an  end  with  her 
death,  there  remained  but  little  in  her  letters  that 
would  have  interested  the  public. 

But  to  return  to  the  O'Connell  ball.  Adam- 
Salomon  had  earned  his  reputation  by  a  superb 
medallion  he  had  made  of  Charlotte  Corday.  He 
selected  for  himself  the  costume  of  Marat,  and 
begged  me  to  wear  the  one  of  Charlotte  Corday. 
Madame  Adam-Salomon  helped  me  to  make  the  cap 
and  the  kerchief,  but  Adam-Salomon,  with  his 
fingers  black  with  collodion  took  my  cap,  in  spite 
of  our  protestations,  and  twisting  it  into  shape, 
gave  it  its  proper  character.  He  made  a  photo- 
graph of  me  as  Charlotte  Corday,  which  was  most 
successful. 

Madame  O'Connell's  large  studio  was  situated 
in  the  Place  Vintimille.  The  night  of  the  ball, 
Adam-Salomon  and  myself  made  our  entrance  arm 
in  arm.  Marat  carried  a  basketful  of  candies 
and  I  held  one  full  of  small  rolls,  with  a  cold  chicken 
in  the  middle  of  them.  The  ball  was  a  picnic,  and 
every   one  was  to  bring  his   or  her  contribution. 

Charlotte  soon  disposed  of  her  rolls,  as  did  Marat 
of  his  candies,  and  I  carried  my  chicken  to  the  sup- 
per table. 

Edmond  Texier,  as  Charles  I,  proposed  to  make 
a  speech.  [  173  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Before  my  head  is  cut  off,"  he  said,  "  I  wish, 
O !  French  nation,  to  prophesy  your  future !  The 
Jacobites  of  coming  times  will  give  you  your  can- 
dies,  and  the  administrators  of  justice  your  daily 
rolls."  The  end  of  his  speech  was  spoken  in  Eng- 
lish. 

Then  the  fun  began.  Everybody  spoke  at  once, 
and  questions  were  asked,  the  answers  to  which 
seemed  all  the  more  absurd  owing  to  the  costumes 
of  the  speakers.  A  niece  of  Monsieur  de  Calonne, 
the  beautiful  Madame  Feydeau,  who  later  became 
Madame  Henry  Fouquier,  was  superbly  handsome 
as  a  bacchante.  Madame  Tessier  du  Mottet 
looked  proud  of  her  young  daughter,  of  whom  we 
shall  speak  again  in  these  pages,  where  we  shall 
find  her  as  pretty  as  ever  in  the  various  transfor- 
mations through  which  she  has  passed.  First,  as 
Madame  Armengand,  a  puritanically  virtuous  wife 
and  mother,  then  as  the  very  romantic  companion 
of  Monsieur  Bai'haut.  Madame  and  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Fizeliere,  both  fair  and  very  pretty,  were  sur- 
rounded with  admirers.  All  literary  and  artistic 
Paris  was  there. 

O'Connell  looked  superb  in  a  Louis  XIII  cos- 
tume. Tall  and  slight,  with  a  turned-up  blond 
mustache,  his  hand  on  his  dagger,  he  had  but  one 
thought,  to  be  admired  by  his  wife,  before  whom 

[  1M  ] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

he  kept  strutting,  despite  the  harmless  jokes  show- 
ered upon  him.  She  was  costumed  as  a  lady  of 
the  Rubens  period,  and,  being  rather  stout  and 
with  a  rubicund  complexion,  looked  the  part  well, 
and  enjoyed  herself  mightily.  She  was  sincerely 
beloved  by  her  very  numerous  friends. 

Madame  O'Connell  was  about  forty,  but  looked 
younger.  She  was  German  by  birth,  and  had  lived 
much  in  Brussels,  where,  after  a  long  and  patient 
study  of  the  Dutch  masters,  she  had  learned  to 
paint  well.  It  was  in  Brussels  that  she  had  met  the 
hot-headed  O'Connell,  a  Belgian  nobleman  of  Irish 
extraction,  and  had  inspired  him  with  a  love  that 
nothing  could  change.  O'Connell's  fortune  was 
small,  but  still  large  enough  to  enable  his  ambitious 
wife  to  wait  patiently  for  fame. 

O'Connell,  who,  in  the  fencing  hall  was  a  lion, 
became  a  lamb  in  the  presence  of  his  wife.  This 
great  creature's  worship  for  his  wife,  whom  he 
called  "  the  presiding  genius  of  his  household," 
was,  in  truth,  most  touching  to  see.  O'Connell  was 
witness  to  every  duel  fought  in  Paris  at  that  time. 

Madame  O'Connell's  merit  as  an  artist  was  un- 
contested. "  A  palette  half  begun  by  Rubens  has 
fallen  into  her  hands,"  was  Rousseau's  flattering 
criticism  of  her,  which  I  heard  him  give  one 
day.     Her  portraits  of  Doctor  Cabarrus  and  of 

[  175  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


O'Connell  in  his  Louis  XIII  costume,  were  reck- 
oned by  the  great  artists  of  that  time  as  two  excel- 
lent works.     She  was  equally  clever  with  pastels. 

The  one  she  made  of  me  was,  according  to  her- 
self, the  least  good  of  all. 

We  heard  one  day  that  some  low  fellow  who  de- 
voted his  time  to  mathematics  and  spirit-rapping 
had  dragged  Madame  O'Connell  from  her  painting 
and  had  converted  her  to  algebra  and  table-turn- 
ing. His  name  was  Landure,  and  his  manners  those 
of  a  tailor  apprentice.  He  took  up  his  abode  with 
her,  and,  one  by  one,  her  pupils  left  her  or  she  left 
them.  O'Connell,  in  despair,  and  not  having  suc- 
ceeded in  fighting  a  duel  with  the  table-mover, 
came  to  say  good-bye  to  us  all,  and  returned  to  Bel- 
gium. 

Soon  after  the  Commune,  an  artist  who  had 
known  Madame  O'Connell  discovered  by  the 
merest  chance  where  she  was  living.  His  house 
portress  spoke  to  him  of  a  poor  lady  who  dwelt  in 
the  same  house  and  who  had  not  been  seen  for  five 
days.  She  was  afraid  to  go  into  her  room  for  fear 
of  finding  her  dead.  The  artist  consented  to  go 
up-stairs  with  the  portress  and  see  the  "  poor  lady," 
whose  door  was  not  even  fastened.  There,  in  a 
wretched  apartment  on  the  fifth  story,  was  Ma- 
dame O'Connell,  scarcely  a  vestige  of  her  former 

[176] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

self  left,  writing  busily.  All  over  the  room  were 
strewn  pages  covered  with  a  large  handwriting. 
The  window  was  open.  On  the  entrance  of  the 
portress  and  the  artist,  she  looked  up  with  insanity 
in  her  eyes,  rose,  and  tried  to  collect  the  scattered 
sheets,  and  fainted  away. 

She  was  taken  to  Sainte-Anne,  and  from  there  to 
Villa  Evrard.  She  suffered  more  from  a  disordered 
mind  than  from  real  madness,  and  fancied  herself 
either  dying  or  as  coming  to  life  again  in  some 
great  ancient  city  that  had  been  destroyed  and  then 
rebuilt. 

My  bust  did  not  make  much  progress.  Adam- 
Salomon  moulded  block  after  block  of  clay.  One 
afternoon  when  I  was  sitting,  two  very  beautiful 
young  girls  came  into  the  studio,  one  fair  and  the 
other  dark.  They  were  the  Misses  Lafitte,  one  of 
whom  became  the  Marquise  de  Gallifet,  the  other 
Madame  d'Erlanger.  They  had  come  to  be  photo- 
graphed. I  asked  Adam-Salomon  to  allow  me  to 
remain,  as  I  wished  to  see  more  of  them.  He  intro- 
duced me  "  as  the  lady  who  helped  him  in  his  pho- 
tography," and  I  did  this  so  effectually  that  he  pro- 
posed my  becoming  his  aid  in  posing.  He,  how- 
ever, gave  up  that  year  all  idea  of  making  my  bust, 
but  later  on,  when  he  lived  in  the  Rue  de  la  Fai- 

[177] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


sanderie,  he  induced  me  to  let  him  make  a  plaster 
cast  of  my  face.  This  was  dreadfully  painful. 
I  thought  I  should  suffocate.  The  weight  of  the 
plaster  nearly  broke  my  neck.  My  eyebrows  and 
eyelashes  were  almost  torn  off.  For  months  after 
I  could  not  forget  the  pain  I  felt  during  the  few 
seconds  while  Adam-Salomon  made  the  holes  for 
my  nostrils  and  opened  my  lips,  and  during  which 
I  could  scarcely  breathe. 

I  can  quite  understand  why  it  is  customary  to 
wait  until  people  are  dead  before  casting  their 
faces  in  plaster. 

Adam-Salomon  made  me  swear  not  to  say,  until 
after  his  death,  that  he  had  made  my  bust  from  the 
cast,  and  I  gave  him  my  promise. 

A  propaganda  in  favour  of  Italian  unity  was 
made  in  all  circles  of  society.  "  Italy  one  and  un- 
divided "  had  become  a  dogma,  both  for  those 
who  had  taken  the  oath  and  those  who  had  refused 
to  do  so,  and  also  for  the  "  Palais  Royal  set,"  where 
Prince  Napoleon,  who  had  married  Victor  Emman- 
uel's daughter,  reigned.  Any  manifestation  was 
popular  that  was  hostile  to  Austria  and  favourable 
to  our  Latin  sister. 

Ristori,  the  Countess  Castiglione,  and  Princess 
Belgiojoso,  who  had  known  Prince  Louis   Napo- 

[178] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

Icon  in  exile,  and  still  kept  a  certain  influence  over 
him,  unceasingly  instilled  into  the  minds  of  their 
friends  and  admirers  the  efficacy  of  the  interven- 
tion of  France  for  the  purpose  of  freeing  Milan 
and  Venice.  At  each  of  her  appearances  in  Paris 
Ristori  increased  the  number  of  partisans  for  Ital- 
ian unity  by  her  talent  and  by  her  ardent  lan- 
guage. The  beautiful  Countess  Castiglione  exer- 
cised her  charms  over  the  Sovereign.  The  Princess 
Belgiojoso  had  bewitched  Buloz,  and  was  publish- 
ing persuasive  articles  in  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes. 

Christine  de  Belgiojoso,  so  celebrated  for  her 
beauty,  for  her  wit  and  for  the  passions  she  had 
inspired,  among  others,  in  Alfred  de  Musset,  had 
herself  but  one  passion,  her  country,  as  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult,  who  knew  and  loved  her,  has  told 
me. 

Her  friend  Dall'  Ongaro  always  spoke  of  her 
to  me  with  the  greatest  warmth.  She  was,  how- 
ever, advancing  in  years,  and  people  began  to  make 
jokes  about  her.  Caricatures  were  made  of  her 
with  this  legend :  "  I  am  consumed  with  more  flame 
for  Italy  than  I  light  in  others."  As  Edmond 
Texier  said  of  her,  she  was  now  a  lamp  without  oil, 
and  he  often  quoted  the  street  arab's  appreciation 
of  her :  "  Oh !  look  at  that  lady  who  has  forgotten 

[  179  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


to   have   herself   buried ! "      The   lines   de   Musset 
wrote  on  her  were  repeated: 

"  Elle  est  morte  et  n'a  point  vecu; 
Elle  faisait  semblant  de  vivre, 
De  ses  mains  est  tombe  le  livre 
Dans  lequel  elle  n'a  rien  lu." 

Man  takes  cruel  revenge  on  a  woman  who  has 
felt  more  passion  for  an  idea  than  for  himself.  It 
deprives  him  of  his  due.  Dall'  Ongaro  took  me  to 
see  the  Princess  Belgiojoso,  whom  I  have  always 
held  in  great  admiration.  Until  the  day  of  her 
death  she  loved  Italy  faithfully  and  ardently.  She 
lived  for  Italy  alone,  and  devoted  her  beauty,  her 
intelligence  and  her  fortune  to  her  cause.  Chris- 
tine Trivulzio  had  the  supreme  happiness  of  seeing 
her  country  set  free.  She  did  not  die  until  her  work 
was  accomplished.  Princess  Belgiojoso  was  one  of 
the  finest  feminine  figures  in  European  history  of 
the  last  century.  From  1848  to  I860  she  proved 
herself  an  incomparable  heroine. 

French  hearts  were  touched  by  all  the  beautiful, 
imploring  eyes,  the  burning  words,  the  songs  of 
hope  and  prayer,  and  were  moved  to  pity  for  a 
national  woe  so  poetically  expressed.  Generous 
France  felt  compassionately  towards  the  kingdom 

[180] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

of  Italy,  "  so  mutilated  and  brutally  occupied  by 
cruel  enemies."  In  all  fashionable  gatherings,  in 
all  our  theatres,  in  comedy,  tragedy,  in  music, 
either  light  or  dramatic,  the  art,  the  literature  or 
the  patriotism  of  Italy  was  extolled.  At  Venice 
and  Milan,  from  the  highest  lady  in  the  land  to 
the  poorest  beggar  woman,  from  the  most  noble 
lord  to  the  meanest  facchino,  all  were  ready  to  die 
rather  than  to  have  anything  to  do  with  il  stra- 
niero.  During  the  whole  period  of  the  Austrian 
occupation,  not  one  single  Italian,  in  spite  of  his 
intense  love  for  music,  was  ever  once  seen  to  listen 
to  any  air  played  by  the  "  foreign  "  military  bands. 
The  mouthpiece  of  Monsieur  de  Cavour,  near 
Napoleon  III,  and  through  Prosper  Merimee,  his 
intimate  friend,  near  the  Empress,  was  Alexandre 
Bixio.  He  made  little  noise,  but  did  good  and  serv- 
iceable work.  He  was  a  Genoese,  therefore  clever. 
His  influence  over  our  party  of  non-oath-takers 
became  daily  of  greater  importance.  In  June, 
1848,  he  had  helped  to  maintain  order.  He  and 
Edmond  Adam,  both  unarmed,  had  attempted  the 
assault  of  the  Saint-Antoine  barricade.  Bixio  fell 
with  a  bullet  wound  in  his  breast,  and  was  left  for 
dead.  He  was  deeply  mourned,  a  funeral  service 
for  the  repose  of  his  soul  was  ordered,  his  family 
had  put  on  mourning  for  him,  when,  a  week  later, 

[  181  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


he  woke  out  of  a  delirious  fever,  in  the  house  of  a 
woman  who  had  picked  him  up  in  the  street.  He 
wrote  to  Hetzel,  his  most  intimate  friend,  and 
begged  him  to  break  the  news  of  his  resurrection, 
as  gently  as  possible,  to  his  people. 

The  Italian  exiles,  together  with  the  Hungarians 
belonging  to  the  party  for  independence,  achieved 
in  our  circle  the  work  that  de  Nigra  was  accom- 
plishing in  smart  society,  and  many  of  the  non- 
oath-takers  were  ready  to  march  as  volunteers  to 
aid  Italy  against  Austria.  The  Court  of  Turin 
took  advantage  of  every  influence,  even  of  that  of 
the  medium,  Daniel  Douglas  Hume,  to  serve  the 
Italian  cause.  At  all  the  tables  that  rapped  out 
answers  at  the  Empress's  receptions  but  one  mes- 
sage was  given :  "  Declare  war  to  Austria."  The 
Empress  was  so  influenced  by  this  Hume,  and  his 
cabalistic  talent,  that  she  allowed  him  to  treat  her 
with  compromising  familiarity.  Hume  certainly 
did  then  make  some  startling  prophecies.  Mon- 
sieur de  Girardin  told  me  of  one,  which  I  at  once 
classed  in  my  notes.  Feeling  himself  out  of  favour, 
he  predicted  in  a  brutal  way  to  the  Empress  that 
her  son  would  never  come  to  the  throne,  and  that 
the  Napoleonic  dynasty  would  be  continued  by 
Prince  Napoleon  and  by  his  descendants. 

Bixio  spent  much  of  his  time  going  and  coming 

[  182  ] 


DRAWING-ROOMS  AND  LIBERTY 

from  Paris  to  Turin.  On  one  occasion  Madame 
d'Agoult  travelled  with  him,  on  her  way  to  super- 
intend the  bringing  out  of  one  of  her  plays  in  Italy. 
She  was  received  by  Victor  Emmanuel,  and  met 
Cavour,  and  her  account  of  the  visit  greatly  in- 
creased our  passionate  interest  for  Italy  undivided. 

The  address  to  Monsieur  de  Hiibncr  was  bearing 
fruit.  Great  bitterness  prevailed  in  the  relations 
between  Italy  and  Austria.  The  exterior  situation 
of  France  was  more  strained  than  ever.  Internally, 
the  supporters  of  the  Law  for  Public  Safety,  in 
spite  of  their  triumph  since  the  death  of  Orsini, 
were  daily  losing  ground.  Napoleon's  own  min- 
isters felt  uneasy  about  what  he  might  mean  to  do, 
and  publicly  reproached  him  with  losing  sight  of 
the  political  point  in  view,  by  reason  of  his  en- 
deavours to  break  some  of  the  links  in  the  chain 
which  they  had  riveted. 

The  idea  of  a  popular  war,  sanctioned  by  the 
Opposition,  and  which  "  the  Five  "  declared  would 
raise  the  prestige  of  France,  became  more  and  more 
attractive  to  Napoleon  III.  Our  party  gave  its 
unreserved  sympathy  to  Italy.  Monsieur  Thiers 
alone  held  out  against  the  politics  of  nationalities, 
which  he  considered  calamitous. 

"  Piedmont  will  fall  to  the  English  and  we  shall 
see  the  ingratitude  of  the  United  States  renewed." 

[183] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Discussion  was  busy  with  Monsieur  Thiers's  pre- 
dictions, and  the  smiling  conclusion  was :  "  He  is 
failing !  " 

Monsieur  Thiers  publicly  advised  Napoleon  III 
to  defer  the  Italian  question,  and  to  unite  with 
Austria.     His  never  varying  opinion  was: 

"  The  unity  of  Italy  will  engender  the  unity  of 
Germany,  to  the  advantage  of  Prussia,  and  will 
some  day  provoke  a  coalition  against  France." 

The  smile  grew  into  a  laugh.  NefFtzer  alone 
agreed  with  this  opinion,  and  said  one  day  at  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult's: 

"  You  who  laugh  now  will  one  day  remember  in 
tears  that  Monsieur  Thiers  was  right." 

I  was  an  ardent  Italophile,  and  occupied  myself 
gathering  notes  to  write  a  study  on  Garibaldi,  the 
hero  of  republican  Rome.  My  pamphlet  appeared 
at  the  right  time  and  was  successful. 


[184] 


r' M 


iiLi 


tSi 


CHAPTER    X 


I    MAKE    MORE    FRIENDS AND    ENEMIES 


fflADAME  UGALDE,  whom  I  frequently  met, 
[443  had  .i1,s|  Deen  ('"<^';W,'  a*  the  Theatre  Ly- 
rique.  I  had  often  applauded  her  in  her  role  of 
Cherubin.  One  evening  as  I  was  complimenting 
her  in  the  greenroom,  Madame  Carvalho  joined 
in  the  conversation,  and  I  told  her  also  how  much 
I  admired  her  in  Les  Noces  de  Figaro.  From  that 
time  we  became  great  friends,  and  many  of  my 
protegees  owe  the  success  of  their  career  to  her. 
In  after-years  I  was  the  means  of  being  of  great 
use  to  Monsieur  Carvalho,  after  his  failure,  and 
was  glad  to  thus  give  proof  to  Madame  Carvalho 
of  my  long-standing  affection,  and  of  my  grati- 
tude for  the  good  she  had  helped  me  to  do. 

She  and  Madame  Ugalde  sent  me  together  a  box 
for  the  second  representation  of  Gounod's  Faust. 
I  invited  Monsieur  and  Madame  Vilbort  to  accom- 
pany me.  Charles  Edmond,  who  was  present 
when  I  went  to  my  cousin's  to  invite  them,  asked 
me  if  I  could  give  him  a  seat  also.  He  had  seen 
the  opera  the  night  before  and  was  enthusiastic 
about  it,  in  spite  of  its  little  success. 

[185] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Charles  Edmond  told  me  a  few  days  afterward, 
that  Gounod,  much  discouraged  at  the  manner  in 
which  his  Faust  had  been  received,  had  sold  the 
score  to  Choudens  for  a  song — only  ten  thousand 
francs.  It  is  well  known  that  Choudens  has  made 
nearly  three  millions  by  it. 

Madame  Vilbort  liked  nothing  but  German 
music,  and  on  hearing  Faust,  with  which  I  was  as 
equally  delighted  as  Charles  Edmond,  said  to  us : 

"  French  music  has  had  its  day,  and  Italian 
music  only  retains  its  place  because  it  has  become 
in  these  days  the  thrilling  expression  of  a  national 


cause." 


Charles  Edmond  agreed  with  me  that  Faust  was 
an  exquisite  and  beautiful  work,  and  that  it  would 
some  day  reach  its  hundredth  representation.  To 
tell  the  truth,  although  we  did  not  say  it,  we 
thought  then  that  this  criticism  was  exaggerated. 
But  time  has  proved  it  was  not,  for  Madame  Car- 
valho  alone  has  sung  the  role  of  Marguerite  at 
the  opera  more  than  four  hundred  times. 

About  a  fortnight  later  Alexandre  Weill  came 
to  see  me,  bearing  a  small  bunch  of  violets.  He 
came  to  offer  me,  from  Meyerbeer,  the  traditional 
bouquet  and  the  half  of  a  box  at  the  Opera 
Comique — Madame  Weill  was  to  occupy  the  other 
half — for  the  first  representation  of  Le  Pardon  de 

[186] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

Ploermel.  The  libretto  was  written  by  my  friend 
Jules  Barbier,  who  had  also  written  that  of  Faust. 

Le  Pardon  de  Ploermel  struck  me  as  having 
been  written  with  studied  simplicity,  which  lent 
great  purity  to  the  composition.  Meyerbeer's 
great  vivifying  flame  can  be  distinguished  in  it, 
but  reduced  to  the  proper  limit  required  for  an 
opcra-comique.  The  air:  Oh!  Puissante  Magie, 
written  for  the  baritone  role,  La  Valse  de  POmbre, 
Enchasse,  the  final  trio,  were  rapturously  ap- 
plauded by  an  enthusiastic  house. 

Alexandre  Weill,  who  had  seen  how  delighted  I 
was,  told  Meyerbeer  about  it,  and,  a  few  days  after, 
informed  me  that  the  Maestro  was  very  much 
pleased  by  my  praise,  and  had  said  he  had  thought 
of  my  golden  sickle  when  he  composed  his  Reaper's 
Song. 

"  Tell  Velleda,"  Meyerbeer  added,  "  that  I  hope 
she  will  soon  hear  my  Africaine.  After  Sophie 
Cruvelli's  retirement  from  the  stage,  Meyerbeer  re- 
fused to  allow  L'Africaine  to  be  produced,  and,  at 
that  time,  after  several  rehearsals  had  taken  place, 
he  found  that  the  Selika  they  had  proposed  to  him 
for  the  role  was  not  qualified  for  it. 

The  news  was  shortly  spread  that  Austria  had 
invaded  the  Piedmontese  territory.  Great  excite- 
ment traversed  the  country  from  north  to  south. 
13  [  187  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


France  did  not  think  of  herself,  but  of  the  danger 
to  her  Latin  sister,  her  former  ally  in  the  Crimea. 
The  French  army  had  seen  the  Piedmontese  sol- 
diers at  work.  She  knew  how  brave  they  were. 
But  what  could  Victor  Emmanuel's  forces  achieve 
against  the  armies  of  Austria?  Latin  France  felt 
bitter  anguish  for  Italy  and  seemed  to  hear  thou- 
sands of  pitiful  voices  imploring  help. 

Madame  d'Agoult  took  me  to  the  opening  of 
the  Salon.  She  was  immensely  interested  in  ex- 
hibitions of  painting,  and  had  often  contributed 
articles  on  art  to  several  of  the  large  magazines. 
All  literary  and  artistic  Paris  was  at  the  Salon; 
de  Ronchaud  accompanied  us,  and  he  pointed  out 
and  named  to  me  many  of  the  artistic  celebrities 
who  went  to  speak  with  Daniel  Stern.  Many  of 
them  asked  de  Ronchaud  who  I  was  and  begged  to 
be  introduced  to  me. 

I  wore  a  very  simple  gown  of  black  taffetas  silk, 
without  any  trimming,  and  made  with  pagoda 
sleeves  of  white  lace,  and  a  fichu  of  black 
Chantilly.  A  Leghorn  straw  hat,  with  black-velvet 
strings,  ornamented  with  a  bunch  of  blue  corn- 
flowers, completed  my  modest  toilet,  which  I  re- 
member was  not  unbecoming  to  me,  being  a  blonde. 

Daniel  Stern,  with  her  snow-white  hair,  was  still 

[188] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

a  beautiful  woman.  We  were  both  much  remarked, 
and  Maxime  du  Camp  left  Madame  Delessert's 
side,  for  a  moment,  to  come  and  ask  Madame 
d'Agoult  who  I  was. 

An  admiring  crowd  surrounded  Gerome's  pic- 
ture the  Death  of  Caesar,  about  which,  how- 
ever, opinions  differed,  some  persons  finding  it  de- 
void of  dramatic  passion  and  harsh  in  colouring. 
A  smaller  work,  A  Combat  of  Gladiators,  ob- 
tained unreserved  praise.  It  was  treated  with  such 
archaeological  skill  that  in  spite  of  its  faint  colour- 
ing it  was  full  of  life. 

All  at  once,  Madame  d'Agoult  drew  me  to  one 
corner  of  the  room  to  look  at  a  picture,  and  I  can 
even  now  recall  it  in  its  smallest  details,  and  how  the 
extraordinary  impression  it  created  in  my  friend 
surprised  me,  for  Madame  d'Agoult  was  not  fond 
of  peasants,  nor  of  country  life,  and  she  surely 
was  much  fascinated  to  thus  admire  a  woman  lead- 
ing a  cow  to  pasture. 

"  How  simple,  how  true  to  life !  how  superbly 
painted !  Heavens  !  how  beautiful  it  is !  "  she  said 
to  de  Ronchaud  and  myself.  "  It  is  not  like  Cour- 
bet's  realism,  it  is  Nature  itself !  Look  at  the  wom- 
an's attitude !  "  It  was  signed,  "  Millet,"  a  name 
unknown  to  Madame  d'Agoult. 

"  For  some  years  past  he  has  been  known  to 

[189] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


artists  and  appreciative  amateurs,"  said  de  Ron- 
chaud. 

"  It  is  the  finest  thing  in  the  whole  Salon,"  added 
Madame  d'Agoult. 

My  dear  friend  was  fond  of  walking,  and  it  was 
owing  to  this  exercise  that  she  had  kept  her  beauti- 
ful figure.  Monsieur  de  Ronchaud  having  left  us, 
she  asked  me  to  walk  up  the  Champs  Elysees  with 
her.  People  were  returning  from  their  drive  in 
the  Bois.  The  fashionable  imperial  world,  the 
"  cocodes  "  and  "  cocodettes,"  as  they  were  called, 
indifferent  as  they  alwa}^  were  about  the  affairs 
of  the  country,  had  been  driving,  as  was  their  cus- 
tom, around  the  Lake.  A  great  number  of  for- 
eigners of  both  sexes  were  mingled  in  that  set  of 
society  that  was  devoted  to  fast  life.  They  had 
come  from — no  one  knew  where — from  London, 
New  York,  and  the  South  American  Republics,  and 
provided  they  had  money,  were  received  with 
greater  favour  than  many  well-known  Frenchmen 
of  smaller  means.  Serious-minded  persons,  like 
ourselves,  criticised  these  foreigners  constantly, 
and  our  attacks,  I  must  admit,  frequently  sprang 
from  what  we  heard  through  vulgar  gossip.  Ma- 
bille,  Bullier,  and  the  Cafe  Anglais  furnished 
enough  to  keep  our  indignation  alive. 

"  War  is  at  hand,"  Madame  d'Agoult  said  to 

[190] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

me.  "  It  may  be  declared  to-morrow.  God  grant 
that  we  may  see  France  victorious  and  Italy  set 
free." 

My  friend  and  myself  had  now  reached  the  Arc 
de  l'Etoile,  and  we  stood  watching  the  fashionable 
fast  crowd. 

"  Look,  Madame,  how  beautifully  the  arc  is 
illuminated  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  Is  not 
this  apotheosis  a  good  omen  ?  " 

"  How  superstitious  you  are,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  Not  superstitious,   but   prophetic,"   I  replied. 

"  I  hope  so,  dear  child." 

As  I  was  taking  leave  of  her  at  the  Rue  de  Pres- 
bourg,  she  said  to  me: 

"  Ronchaud  has  arranged  his  pagan  dinner  to 
take  place  at  my  house.  You  Greeks  will  be  three 
in  number:  Louis  Menard,  yourself,  and  Ron- 
chaud. It  is  settled  for  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
I  shall  be  the  only  '  barbarian  '  present.  I  wanted 
to  ask  Chenavard,  who  believes  in  the  indefinite 
progress  of  humanity,  and  who  would  have  pro- 
tected me  against  you  three,  who  assume  that  all 
artistic  and  literary  progress,  etc.,  came  to  an  end 
in  the  age  of  Pericles.  But  Chenavard  is  unfor- 
tunately engaged,  so  I  have  asked  Paul  de  Saint- 
Victor,  who  is  rather  more  of  a  Latin  than  a  Greek. 
That  will  be  better  than  nothing." 

[191] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


I  returned  home  alone  on  foot,  forgetting  my 
fatigue  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  lovely  spring  day. 
If  the  smart  people,  who  were  returning  from  the 
Bois,  cared,  according  to  Madame  d'Agoult,  but 
little  about  the  great  coming  events,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  modest  people  on  foot,  among  whom  I 
was  walking,  talked  of  nothing  but  the  coming 
war.  Whatever  opinion  they  held  on  the  facts  that 
had  preceded  its  approach,  war  seemed  inevitable 
to  them  all.  Anything  that  could  serve  as  a  pre- 
text for  public  demonstrations  or  excitement,  al- 
though frequently  contradictory,  was  instantly 
seized  on.  A  short  two-act  play  by  Auguste  Vac- 
querie,  neither  better  nor  worse  than  many  others, 
Souvent  Homme  Varie,  had  an  enormous  success 
at  the  Theatre  Francais.  A  number  of  young  men 
seized  the  play  as  a  pretext  for  making  a  mani- 
festation in  favour  of  Victor  Hugo,  and  went  wild 
over  certain  lines,  such  as  these: 

L' Amour     . 
Ce  sont  les  deux  moities  d'un  cceur  qui  se  retrouvent. 

Emotion  and  excitement  were  the  permanent 
feelings  in  all  hearts.   .   .   . 

War  was  declared  by  France  to  Austria. 
Loud  cheers  saluted  the  departing  army.     Before 

("  192] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

the  first  of  May  came  the  news  of  successive  vic- 
tories: Palestro,  Magenta,  Solferino,  filled  us  with 
pride.  France  was  victorious,  and  the  army, 
our  army,  added  fresh  laurels  to  our  former 
glory. 

I  went  to  Madame  d'Agoult's  on  the  appointed 
day  to  the  "  pagan  "  dinner.  I  did  not  know  either 
Louis  Menard  or  Paul  de  Saint-Victor,  but  de 
Ronchaud  had  so  often  talked  to  Menard  about  me 
that  by  the  end  of  an  hour  we  were  old  friends,  as 
we  said ;  "  old  accomplices,"  added  Madame 
d'Agoult. 

Paul  de  Saint- Victor,  who  was  generally  silent 
with  strangers — he  detested  people  whom  he  did 
not  know,  he  said — was  full  of  animation  during 
this  small  dinner.  He  was  a  whimsical  creature, 
and  would  frequently  treat  as  perfect  strangers 
those  who  considered  themselves  his  friends.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  persons  were  distant  to  him,  he 
would  fall  on  their  necks.  De  Ronchaud,  who  was 
very  fond  of  him  and  paid  no  attention  to  his 
caprices,  called  him  "  the  Klepht,"  or  "  the  new 
Sophocles."  Louis  Menard,  who  admired  him  as 
a  son  of  the  land  of  light,  accused  him  sometimes 
of  putting  on  "  Normalian  airs."  But  on  this 
particular  evening  he  was  his  true  self,  and  as  such 
he  showed  himself  as  a  writer,  a  fastidious  scholar, 

[193] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


an  artist,  conversing  as  would  an  Athenian,  with- 
out a  shadow  of  pedantry,  in  spite  of  his  incom- 
parable learning. 

Louis  Menard  was  half  a  dozen  men  in  one,  and 
each  one  distinct  from  the  other.  First  and  fore- 
most, he  was  a  lyric  poet,  a  poet  of  divine  sublim- 
ity, an  explorer  of  those  inaccessible  heights  which 
pierce  the  clouds  and  reach  the  astral  empyrean 
sphere.  He  was  also  a  chemist,  an  inventor,  a 
politician,  a  chronic  rebel,  ever  ready  to  take  part 
in  a  riot,  a  lover  of  antique  anarchy,  which  he  be- 
lieved had  produced  Art  in  the  past.  He  was  ex- 
iled after  June,  1848,  and  only  returned  to  France 
from  England  when  the  Empire  was  declared.  He 
was  besides  a  painter,  a  pupil  of  Rousseau  and 
Troyon,  and  his  paintings  were  much  remarked  at 
all  the  exhibitions.  Finally,  to  enumerate  several 
of  his  talents,  Menard  was  a  philosopher,  a  critic, 
an  historian,  and — a  pagan.  He  told  us  that  even- 
ing that  he  was  working  hard  for  his  degree  as 
Master  of  Arts,  and  that  he  then  intended  to  study 
for  the  bar. 

When  we  were  at  the  "  Salon,"  de  Ronchaud  had 
shown  Madame  d'Agoult  and  myself  Menard's 
"  Chataigniers,"  "  Cerfs  et  Biches,"  all  much  ad- 
mired, and  we  complimented  him  on  his  success. 
Courbet's    work    looked   coarse    compared    to   Me- 

[194] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

nard's,  although  he  did  not  equal  him  as  a  painter, 
but  his  work  was  more  pleasing  to  the  eye. 

Being  Hellenists,  our  conversation  ran  naturally 
on  the  vulgarity  of  the  present  day.  Each  one 
of  us  demonstrated  our  individual  theory  on  Art, 
and  Saint-Victor  as  well  as  Menard,  de  Ronchaud, 
and  myself,  drew  our  theories  from  our  worship  of 
Greece,  "  rich  in  immortal  works  from  which  we 
have  inherited  the  definite  forms  of  Beauty." 

"  Oh !  what  infatuated  people !  "  cried  Madame 
d'Agoult. 

Menard  was  a  pagan  from  the  teachings  of  tra- 
dition and  Orphic  at  the  same  time,  because  he  be- 
lieved in  the  priority  of  Orpheus.  Ronchaud  was 
a  free-thinker,  Saint-Victor  a  Catholic,  and  I  was 
a  pagan  inspired  by  Nature,  believing  that  in 
nature  was  the  divine.  All  four  of  us  were  con- 
vinced that  by  classical  education  alone  could  we 
possess  elevated  sentiments  of  justice  and  valour, 
which  are  traditional  and  not  individual  ideas,  and 
which,  when  they  have  penetrated  the  heart  of  a 
people  for  long  years,  will  have  done  much  to  for- 
tify it.  Menard  proved  by  examples  that  the  deca- 
dent epochs  of  a  nation  corresponded  with  its 
mechanical  progress,  which  engenders  despotism. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear  Menard,"  said  Saint- 
Victor.  "  From  the  so-called  progress  which  is  ob- 

[195] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


tained  by  means  of  mechanism  spring  revolutions 
and  the  politics  of  groups,  which  means  the  poli- 
tics of  those  who  deceive  and  mislead  the  people, 
by  6ome  nominal  fictitious  improvement.  To  me 
liberty  seems  possible  only  through  the  predomi- 
nance of  superiority,  not  of  equality,  by  progress 
in  science  and  the  sacred  arts,  as  the  Greeks  would 
express  it,  and  I  add  that  liberty  is  only  possible 
through  the  aid  of  evangelical  teaching.  I  wish 
that  some  one  would  make  an  active  campaign  in 
our  Voltairian  and  sceptical  country,  alas !  whose 
soul  is  being  destroyed,  whose  classical  ideas  and 
whose  spirit  of  caste  is  daily  losing  ground,  in 
favour  of  our  two  religions,  mine  for  the  soul  and 
Menard's  pagan  worship  for  the  mind." 

"  How  far  we  are  from  all  that,  my  dear  Saint- 
Victor,"  said  Menard.  "  The  worst  enemies  of  our 
dear  France  make  mockery  of  our  gods,  as  did  the 
Athenians  in  their  latter  days ;  they  are  striving  to 
destroy  our  intellectual  ideals  and  all  that  pro- 
duces our  artistic  supremacy  over  the  whole  world." 

Madame  d'Agoult  smiled  and  glanced  at  me. 

"  After  a  German  Jew  has  dared  to  make 
grotesque  realities  of  my  Greek  gods,"  Menard 
continued,  "  you  will  find,  Saint-Victor,  that  they 
will  treat  your  humanised  God,  Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
in  some  similar  way,  so  as  to  find  favour  with  the 

[196] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

destroyers  of  all  tradition.  Sec,  dear  friends,  how, 
in  this  country,  the  purveyors  of  internationalism 
strive  daily  to  destroy  some  divinity.  The  only 
divinity  left, and  respected  is  the  Golden  Calf." 

"  You  must  be  pleased  beyond  expression,  little 
Juliette,"  said  Madame  d'Agoult  to  me. 

"  Instead  of  going  to  see  that  horrible  Orphee- 
aux-Enfers,  I  would  have  preferred  to  have  visited 
the  Castalian  fountain  and  drank  of  its  Delphic 
waters." 

"  Don't  be  spiteful." 

"  Oh !  my  dear  friend,  you  cannot  think  how  I 
suffer  to  bear  in  my  memory  the  grotesque  image 
of  my  gods.  I  have  only  thought  of  them  repre- 
sented in  marble,  so  still,  so  pure " 

"  You  have  seen  the  Orphee-aux-Enfers  and  I 
feel  for  you.  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  see  it. 
The  enemies  of  the  Beautiful  are  clever  and  lay 
their  snares  with  devilish  cunning.  Among  some 
typical  observations  that  I  made  the  other  day,  I 
discovered  that  at  the  very  time,  when  in  Athens, 
they  were  endeavouring  to  deny  the  priority  of 
Orphic  poems,  and  to  modernise  Orpheus  at  any 
price,  the  shrill  Jewish  clarion  was  introduced  into 
the  harmonious  music  of  Greece.  Since  that  time 
we  have  witnessed  the  continual  struggle  between 
the  lyre  that  elevated  the  inspiration  of  the  Muses 

[197] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


of  Amphion,  and  the  trumpet  of  Israel  that  threw 
down  the  walls  of  Jericho.  I  am  certain  that  the 
Orphic  poems  are  anterior  to  Homer  and  Hesiod," 
added  Menard.  "  Some  of  them  have  been  lost, 
others  have  been  modified,  but  the  spirit  of  Orpheus 
was  born  with  Greece." 

"  Prove  that,  Monsieur  Menard,  and  I  will  be- 
come Orphaic,"  I  cried.  "  If  I  am  a  Homerist, 
it  is  because  I  find  Homer  superior  to  those  who 
come  after  him." 

"  We  are  both  right,"  said  Menard.  "I  am  pre- 
pared at  this  moment  to  demonstrate  that  the  first 
ideas  of  morality,  which  came  to  us  from  the  poets, 
are  of  a  more  elevated  nature  than  that  which  came 
from  philosophy,  and  I  am  writing  a  book  on  the 
subject,  La  Morale  avant  les  Philosophes.  The 
great  objection  made  to  the  priority  of  Orpheus 
is,  that  if  he  had  lived  earlier  he  could  not  have 
conceived  the  Orpine  morality.  I  will  prove  the 
contrary." 

"  It  is  logical,"  said  Ronchaud  warmly,  "  that 
the  destroyers  of  French  morality  should  attack 
Orpheus,  for  their  formula  is,  '  The  aim  of  life  is 
pleasure,'  and  Orpheus  admitted  solely  among  his 
followers  those  who  were  willing  to  renounce  en- 
joyment." 

"  True !  my  dear  Ronchaud,"  replied  Saint-Vic- 

[198] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

tor,  "  your  argument  is  striking.  Instead  of  im- 
itating the  fauns  and  bacchantes,  the  disciples 
of  Orpheus,  as  soon  as  they  became  initiated,  gave 
up  all  good  living,  all  sensual  pleasures,  and  drank 
no  wine.  In  Offenbach's  Orphec  we  are  shown  the 
gods  feasting,  and  Eurydice  singing  that  fatal 
Evohe,  which  may  lead  us  to  our  ruin." 

Strange  to  say,  the  woman  who  held  the  primal 
place  in  Saint-Victor's  life  was  a  Jewess,  Lea  Felix, 
Rachel's  sister.  This  may  in  a  manner  explain 
what  was  abnormal  in  his  character. 

Madame  d'Agoult  had  listened  to  us  with  a  most 
indulgent  and  smiling  expression,  but  Menard's 
affirmation  concerning  Orpheus's  priority  vexed 
her. 

"  Come,  Monsieur  Menard,"  she  said,  "  you 
know  that  Herodotus  does  not  speak  of  Orpheus, 
that  Plato  scarcely  mentions  him  in  his  Banquet, 
that  Cicero  denies  his  prior  existence,  and  he  is 
quite  right,  for  the  Orphic  hymns — and  this  puts 
them  in  their  proper  class — speak  of  a  single  god, 
a  conception  unknown  to  antiquity." 

"  Pardon  me,  pardon  me !  "  exclaimed  Menard. 
"  All  the  secret  doctrine  of  Eleusis  is  not  known. 
I  deny  that  Clement  of  Alexandria  and  Eusebius 
revealed  a  ucav  Orpheus ;  they  resuscitated  the  an- 
cient one  in  portions,  and  this  resuscitated  Orpheus 

[199] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


says  himself : '  All  the  beings  and  all  the  things  that 
Zeus  made  disappear  from  the  earth  he  brought  to 
life  again  through  the  power  of  his  divine  heart 
into  bewildering  light.'  " 

The  discussion  continued  ardent  on  our  side, 
calm  and  logical  on  Madame  d'Agoult's,  who  was 
amused  at  the  exuberance  and  vitality  of  our  love 
for  the  past,  which  she  considered  dead. 

The  effect  of  the  success  of  our  arms  in  Italy 
was  to  bring  about  more  harmonious  relations  be- 
tween the  non-oath-taking  party  of  the  Opposition 
and  the  Empire.  Much  less  was  said  about  the 
"  Second  of  December,"  and  a  better  feeling  was  en- 
gendered. The  exiles  were  becoming  nervous,  and 
were  writing  to  us  that  "  we  were  betraying  the 
republican  idea."  France  was  once  again  becoming 
a  military  country.  The  words  fighting  and  glory 
were  on  every  one's  lips.  MacMahon,  the  Zouaves, 
Victor  Emmanuel,  became  the  sole  topics  of  con- 
versation, and  a  host  of  glorious  deeds  were  men- 
tioned, shedding  lustre  on  the  national  character. 

I  recollect  that  from  a  list  of  some  twenty  gen- 
erals the  name  of  one  was  often  quoted.  He  had 
already  won  his  spurs  in  the  Crimea,  and  at  Mele- 
gnano  and  at  Solferino  had  given  extraordinary 
proofs  of  an  indomitable  courage   and  audacity. 

[200] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

A  day  was  to  come  when  France  should  pronounce 
this  name  with  despair  and  shame — it  was  that  of 
Bazaine. 

The  peace  of  Villafranca  converted  the  general 
enthusiasm  into  a  feeling  of  delusion.  Italy  had 
not  won  her  freedom  "  from  the  Alps  to  the  Adri- 
atic," according  to  the  promise  m^de  and  Napoleon 
III  brought  hostilities  to  a  speedy  termination. 

"  You  see  "  became  the  shibboleth  of  all  those 
who  had  not  laid  down  their  arms,  and  more  than 
once  was  heard  "  This  man  has  no  conception  of 
what  is  right."  Parliamentary  government,  it  was 
urged,  either  would  never  have  sanctioned  a  be- 
ginning of  hostilities  at  all  or  would  never  have 
allowed  so  brutal  a  termination  to  a  war. 

"  Now,"  said  Monsieur  Thiers,  "  France  has 
gained  the  enmity  of  Austria,  and  by  her  deception 
has  lost  the  friendship  of  Italy.  We  shall  pres- 
ently see  England  and  Prussia  reaping  the  fruit 
of  our  spilt  blood." 

The  time  of  genial  smiling  was  now  at  an  end. 
The  return  of  the  troops  from  Italy  for  a  brief 
moment  aroused  general  sympathy  towards  one 
who,  at  any  rate,  as  the  jingoes  declared,  had  led 
the  French  arms  in  a  field  of  honour. 

That  return  I  viewed  from  the  house  of  my 
friend   and   relative,   Madame   Vilbort,   Boulevard 

[201] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Poissoniere.  The  Army  from  Italy !  I  can  see 
it  defiling  past  me.  With  what  feelings  of  emo- 
tion did  I  applaud  our  bronzed  and  sunburned 
troops,  swashbucklers  in  tattered  uniforms,  carry- 
ing rifles  that  had  barely  been  discharged.  We 
applauded,  "  Vive  l'Armee !  vive  la  France !  "  We 
showered  flowers  on  officers  and  men,  amid  a  scene 
of  unparalleled  enthusiasm.  The  troops  came  from 
the  direction  of  the  Bastille  towards  the  Place  Ven- 
dome,  where  they  were  to  march  past  the  Emperor. 
The  standards  taken  from  the  enemy  were  carried 
by  those  who  had  won  them.  The  Austrian  can- 
non rolled  along.  The  marshals  filed  past  and  were 
greeted  with  shouts  of  deafening  applause:  Mar- 
shal Regnault  Saint-Jean  d'Angely  at  the  head  of 
the  Imperial  Guard ;  then  Baraguey  d'Hilliers, 
Niel,  Canrobert,  MacMahon,  leading  their  respect- 
ive divisions,  the  last  two  welcomed  with  accla- 
mation. 

From  the  beginning  of  the  war  my  glorious 
humanitarian  principles  were  kept  in  check  by  my 
passion  for  the  heroic,  and  I  shouted  with  all  my 
strength  "  Vive  l'Armee  !  " 

Who  is  it  that  standing  next  to  me  is  moved 
with  the  same  enthusiasm?  Why,  it  is  Edmond 
About !  A  feoffee  of  the  Empire,  the  only  young 
man  of  talent  who  has  placed  his  pen  at  the  service 

[  202  ] 


EDMOND  ABOUT. 

From  a  paiutiug  by  Paul  Baudry. 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

of  the  Imperial  Government.  It  is  About  himself ! 
Before  the  campaign  of  Italy  I  should  certainly 
have  left  any  house  where  I  might  have  met  About. 
Had  he  not  denied  the  principles  of  personal 
liberty  and  independence,  the  negation  of  which 
robs  from  a  modern  author  all  respect  for  his  char- 
acter? Was  he  not  the  author  of  La  Grece  Con- 
temporaine  and  Le  Roi  des  Montagnes?  Both 
of  these  were  abominable  pamphlets  against  my 
Greeks,  against  a  people  whom  scarcely  a  quarter 
of  a  century  separated  from  four  hundred  years 
of  slavery,  and  whose  morals,  habits,  and  customs 
could  not  in  a  single  day  cease  from  being  those 
of  a  revolutionary  people,  divided  by  partisanship 
and  oppressed  by  the  most  cruel  foe  a  vanquished 
people  ever  had. 

Madame  Vilbort,  who  was  very  intimate  with 
About,  judging  that  our  mutual  admiration  for 
the  returned  Italian  army  would  effectually  pre- 
vent our  devouring  one  another,  without  giving  us 
the  slightest  warning,  placed  us  side  by  side. 

As  soon  as  the  conversation  became  at  all  gen- 
eral, About  and  myself  began  to  bristle  with  differ- 
ences. Charles  Edmond  and  the  other  friends  of 
Madame  Vilbort,  among  whom  was  Louis  Jour- 
dan,  the  editor  of  Siecle,  whose  daily  attacks 
on  Louis  Veuillot  were  so  brilliant,  were  highly 
14  [  203  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


entertained  at  this  skilful  fencing  match  of 
repartee  between  About  and  myself,  in  which  a 
good  deal  of  wit  was  exchanged. 

"  What  is  the  opinion  of  the  son-in-law  of  the 
Zouaves'  Corporal  as  to  the  peace  of  Villaf  ranca  ?  " 
I  asked  About. 

"  He  is  simply  in  despair ;  but  he  blames  the 
ministers  more  than  the  Emperor.  Just  think,  O 
fair  Republican,  whose  artlessness  has  led  her  to 
put  her  faith  in  tyrants,  that  the  Minister  for  War 
has  refused  to  supply  the  Head  of  the  State  with 
either  troops,  ammunition,  or  provisions,  and  that 
the  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs  has  been  tamper- 
ing with  despatches  to  curry  favour  with  his  sov- 
ereign. Besides  you  all  know  why  peace  was  con- 
cluded. The  Emperor  stated  the  reason  at  a 
reception  of  the  Diplomatic  Corps,  when  he  com- 
plained of  the  ingratitude  of  Europe,  but  said 
"  that  he  wished  to  prove  to  this  very  Europe  that 
he  had  no  intention  of  setting  her  house  in  con- 
fusion." 

"  Timid  men  make  bad  rulers,"  replied  Charles 
Edmond,  who  was  on  the  point  of  adding  some- 
thing more,  when  Edmond  Texier  burst  into  the 
room  like  a  hurricane. 

Texier  had  taken  part  in  the  Italian  campaign 
as  war   correspondent   for  the   Siecle.      This   was 

[204] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 


the  first  time  we  had  seen  him  since  his  return.  He 
had  been  decorated,  and  we  were  all  unanimous 
that  his  Cross  was  well  earned,  both  by  his  admira- 
ble literary  work  and  by  real  service  rendered  to 
the  staff. 

With  extraordinary  rapture  he  told  us  of  the 
endurance  and  of  the  courage  of  our  soldiers,  of 
the  splendid  soldierlike  conduct  and  native-born 
energy  of  our  officers,  of  the  personal  bravery  of 
the  generals,  but  his  strictures  did  not  spare  the 
Emperor  in  spite  of  About's  protestations. 

"  He  has  been  vacillating,  eclipsed,  and  even 
nervous,"  said  Texier.  "  I  think,"  he  added, 
"  that  the  secret  of  the  termination  of  the  cam- 
paign is  the  lack  of  management  in  the  camps  of 
Napoleon  .  .  .  the  third.  I  think  he  is  rather  the 
author  of  the  Reveues  politiques  than  the  nephew 
of  the  first  Napoleon." 

About  made  no  reply  to  this  attack.  He  pre- 
tended to  be  in  busy  conversation  about  Proudhon, 
whom  he  hated,  and  congratulated  me  on  my  reply 
to  his  abuse  of  two  clever  women. 

"  He  is  a  social  criminal  and  a  personal  insulter," 
About  said  to  me ;  "  and  if  he  would  take  up  a 
challenge,  I  would  strike  him  on  the  spot.  But  a 
man  like  Proudhon  casts  dirt  and  aspersions  about 
.and  then  refuses  all  satisfaction." 

[205  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


I  then  chatted  with  Louis  Jourdan,  whom  I  knew 
to  be  very  intimate  with  Alphonse  Karr,  and  told 
him  that  my  birth  into  literature  took  place  at  the 
Siecle.  He  said  he  perfectly  well  recollected  the 
letter  of  a  pretty  provincial  woman  who  carried 
no  crinoline,  and  that  the  letter  was  thought  to  be 
the  composition  of  the  author  of  the  Bourdonne- 
ments.  He  gracefully  alluded  to  his  long  wish 
to  make  my  acquaintance.  Aries  Dufour,  a  most 
intimate  Saint-Simonian  brother,  had  often  spoken 
about  me  to  him. 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  resist  the  charm  of 
acquaintance  and  friendship  with  Jourdan,  since 
he  himself  was  desirous  of  knowing  me.  He  had 
a  poetic  soul,  a  tender  and  trusting  heart,  and 
what  is  more  remarkable  still,  was  a  writer  of  ex- 
traordinary energy.  His  daily  newspaper  polem- 
ics with  Louis  Veuillot,  carried  on  in  a  spirit  of 
chivalrous  fair  play,  gave  him  an  unquestioned 
mastery  in  the  use  of  the  weapons  of  literary  war- 
fare. Skilful  beyond  measure  were  the  pen  thrusts 
of  the  two  "  Louis."  The  debates  between  Jour- 
dan and  Veuillot  were  followed  by  everybody,  and 
on  both  sides  they  reflected  the  greatest  credit  on 
French  literature. 

My  friendship  with  Louis  Jourdan  began  from 
that    day,    and    he   became    one    of   my    most    in- 

[206] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

timate  friends.  To  know  him  was  in  truth  to 
love  him. 

Just  as  Echnond  About  was  leaving  for  the  Place 
Vendome,  Madame  Vilbort  invited  us  all  to  spend 
a  day  at  Neuilly,  where  she  had  a  most  charming 
country  house. 

The  Act  of  Amnesty  was  widely  discussed,  but 
all  who  could  forget  their  wrongs  and  their 
grudges,  beheld  with  feelings  of  joy  the  end  of 
tyranny  and  the  possibility  of  a  return  to  parlia- 
mentary government.  Girardin  left  us  with  the 
words  that  Napoleon  III  was  the  first  liberal  in 
France,  nay  more,  he  was  a  revolutionary  even! 
The  Italian  campaign  clearly  proved  this.  Many 
Deputies  hitherto  quite  subservient  to  the  authority 
of  the  Empire  now  declared  that  the  moment  had 
arrived  "  to  reckon  with  the  Democracy."  Emile 
Ollivier,  "  the  little  Ollivier,"  solemnly  protested 
that  now  was  the  time  if  ever  to  exert  "  the  liberal 
pressure."  Prince  Napoleon  set  himself  in  opposi- 
tion to  "  the  Imperial  reaction,"  and  a  new  paper 
was  announced  under  the  direction  of  his  mouth- 
piece, Ad.  Gueroult.  The  name  of  the  journal  was 
even  given  out  as  L'Opinion  Nationale.  Vil- 
bort, Edmond  About,  Sarcey  de  Suttieres,  Charles 
Edmand,  were  to  contribute  to  it.  Its  tendency 
was  to  be  "  distinctly  Italian,"  and  Madame  Vil- 

[207] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


bort  tried  to  persuade  me  to  write  for  its  columns 
a  new  appreciation  of  Garibaldi.  I  declined  this 
amiable  suggestion,  which,  I  afterward  learned, 
was  inspired  by  Gueroult. 

"The  little  Olliviers,"  the  friends  of  Jules 
Simon,  raved  about  his  work  on  Liberty,  in  which 
he  made  the  announcement  that  freedom  was  bound 
to  no  particular  form  of  government.  We  used 
to  say  among  ourselves  that  had  Ollivier  never  ex- 
isted, Jules  Simon  would  have  invented  him  in  his 
proper  person.  Louis  Blanc,  Schoelcher,  Quinet, 
Charras,  Clement  Thomas,  all  refused  the  general 
amnesty  in  terms  insulting  to  Napoleon. 

"  He  has  no  more  right  to  include  us  in  an 
amnesty,"  they  wrote,  "  than  he  had  to  seize 
France." 

Victor  Hugo  hurled  at  "  Napoleon  the  Small  " 
this  short  but  lapidary  sentence,  "  When  Liberty 
returns,  I  shall  return."  The  friends  of  the  author 
of  Les  Chatiments  declared  that  he  could  accept 
no  favour  at  the  hands  of  one  whom  he  had 
dragged  to  the  shambles.  Chained  in  exile  to  an 
English  rock,  like  the  first  Napoleon,  he  was  set 
in  an  heroic  framework.  From  the  dizzy  height 
of  this  rock  he  could  pass  judgment  on  the  mean- 
ness of  soul  of  him  who  was  the  inheritor  of  Water- 
loo, and  he  set  his  vision  to  a  magnificent  strain. 

[208] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 


Had  he  not  attained  the  highest  sphere  of  poetic 
genius  and  fancy  in  La  Legende  des  Siecles? 

"  He  made  a  far  grander  figure  in  Guernsey 
than  when  he  returned  to  France.  Dabbling  in 
politics,  he  reduces  himself  to  mere  human  pro- 
portion," wrote  Vacquerie,  who  was  lingering 
on  in  Paris  after  the  success  of  Souvent  homme 
varie. 

The  publication  of  the  first  part  of  La  Legende 
des  Siecles  was  a  great  literary  event.  All  the 
criticisms  hurled  against  the  head  of  the  romantic 
school — criticisms  indeed  arising  far  less  from  his 
personal  opponents  than  resulting  from  the  eccen- 
tricities of  his  latest  disciples,  whose  exaggerations 
bordered  on  the  grotesque — came  to  a  sudden  and 
full  stop,  as  if  by  miracle.  The  volumes  that  fol- 
lowed converted  the  most  hypercritical  classics, 
like  myself,  into  unconditional  admirers.  All  my 
prejudices  against  one  whose  whole  genius  tended 
to  emancipate  us  from  our  Hellenic  traditions,  and 
who  had  in  reality  turned  aside  the  current  of 
French  letters  from  this  channel,  fell  powerless  at 
one  swoop  before  this  overwhelming  masterpiece 
that  was  now  beginning  and  was  to  find  its  end  in 
an  apotheosis. 

Emile  Deschanel  returned  from  exile.  His 
friends  gave  him  a  warm  greeting.     He  was  liked 

[209] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


and  admired,  as  a  writer,  as  an  orator,  and  as  a 
man  of  strong  purpose. 

Challemel-Lacour  also  came  back  and  made  his 
first  appearance  in  Paris  at  Madame  d'Agoult's 
salon.     He  received  a  genuine  and  hearty  welcome. 

The  return  of  the  exiles  modified  by  degrees  the 
salon  of  Madame  d'Agoult.  They  brought  succor 
to  the  war-at-no-price  party.  Their  hatred  of  the 
Second  of  December  was  preserved  inviolate  and 
had  even  added  strength  to  itself  during  their 
enforced  absence  abroad. 

During  the  four  weeks  that  Challemel-Lacour 
spent  in  France,  he  seemed  heart-broken  at  the  com- 
promise he  witnessed  between  those  who  had  taken 
the  oath  of  allegiance  and  the  Empire. 

"  I  thought  I  should  walk  on  a  dunghill  in 
Paris,"  he  wrote,  "  but  I  discover  here  is  liquid 
putrefaction.  How  can  one  possibly  render  such 
a  place  wholesome,  what  good  would  be  achieved  by 
my  paltry  personal  disinfectant?  " 

This  first  impression  was  forgotten  by  Challemel- 
Lacour,  when,  after  his  resignation  from  the  pro- 
fessional chair  at  the  Ecole  Polytechnic  School 
at  Zurich  had  been  accepted  not  without  consider- 
able difficulty,  he  returned  to  Paris  and  learned 
what  refinement  the  mind  can  attain  in  a  struggle 
against  political  servitude. 

[210] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

"  Thought  soars  high,  when  it  with  difficulty 
breaks  from  its  fetters,  as  it  has  then  greater 
spring,"  he  wrote  a  few  months  later. 

The  Second  of  December  found  Challemel-La- 
cour  a  Professor  of  Philosophy  in  the  provinces. 
On  leaving  the  Ecole  Normale  he  lectured  first  at 
Pau,  and  next  at  Limoges,  where  he  endeavoured 
to  stir  up  the  peasantry  of  the  neighbourhood 
against  "  the  Napoleonic  tyranny."  Imprisoned, 
then  exiled,  he  devoted  himself  to  increasing  by 
study  his  knowledge,  already  vast,  and  by  lecturing 
in  Germany,  in  Belgium,  and  in  Switzerland  he 
endeavoured  to  develop  his  oratorical  powers.  It 
was  in  Switzerland  he  delivered  those  eloquent  lec- 
tures, the  fame  of  which  reached  us  at  home. 

As  soon  as  my  book  came  out  I  sent  a  copy  to 
Challemel-Lacour  at  Zurich.  Meeting  me  at  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult's  when  he  called  upon  her  after  his 
return,  he  thanked  me  for  my  attention  in  such 
flattering  terms  that  it  needed  but  two  or  three 
meetings  at  the  house  of  our  mutual  friend,  and 
one  visit  to  me,  to  make  us  firm  friends. 

The  very  cultivated  and  refined  mind  of  Chal- 
lemel,  his  elegant  polish  of  style  and  of  conversa- 
tion, his  extreme  delicacy  towards  women  joined 
to  great  integrity  of  soul  and  strength  of  char- 
acter,   excited    towards    him,    first,    a    feeling    of 

[211] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


esteem,  and  if  he  but  lay  claim  to  it,  one  of  affec- 
tion. For  instance,  so  soon  as  he  took  part  in  a 
discussion  he  became  intolerant,  fierce  in  his  con- 
victions, often  aggressive  and  hard,  nay,  even  dis- 
respectful, but  so  cultured  was  he  that  his  brutality 
took  the  form  rather  of  denunciation  than  of 
affront. 

On  his  return  to  Switzerland  he  one  day  sent  me 
a  friend  of  his,  requesting  me  to  speak  in  his 
favour  to  Monsieur  Fauvety  about  some  contribu- 
tion to  the  Revue  Philosophique.  I  was  able  to 
render  the  service  that  Challemel's  friend  required, 
and  as  this  gentleman  happened  also  to  be  a  friend 
of  Proudhon,  he  showed  me  a  letter  "  on  my  ad- 
versary," written  to  him  by  Challemel-Lacour, 
in  which  Proudhon  was  not  exactly  spared.  I 
accepted  the  interesting  autograph,  which  ran  as 
follows : 

"  At  last,  my  dear  friend,  I  saw  Proudhon  yes- 
terday, not  without  some  difficulty,  as  much  cere- 
mony is  necessary  to  penetrate  into  the  lion's  den. 
After  chatting  about  you  and  your  letter,  wc 
naturally  touched  on  the  subject  of  his  book,  which 
is  coming  out  in  a  few  days.  '  It  will  make  all 
Europe  tremble,'  he  said.  In  truth,  these  words 
struck  me  as  somewhat   childish  as   coming  from 

[212] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 


such  a  veteran  in  letters.  Surely,  it  is  best  left  to 
youth  alone  to  speak  of  a  book  in  such  terms.  It 
is  evident  that  Proudhon  likes  to  give  one  a  start, 
and  he  will  be  much  disappointed  if  the  book  does 
not  produce  the  effect  he  anticipates.  I  thought 
it  might  give  him  courage  if  I  told  him  he  had 
"  his  privileges."  These  harmless  words  almost 
put  him  beside  himself.  He  replied  with  a  warmth 
that  bordered  on  anger,  and  in  such  a  way,  that 
I  perceived  he  was  not  made  for  friendly  dis- 
cussion. 

"  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  indul- 
gence extended  to  La  Revolution  Sociale  demontree 
par  le  Coup  d'Etat  called  up  recollections  he  pre- 
ferred not  to  remember. 

"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

"  Challemel-Lacour." 

Another  friend  of  Madame  d'Agoult  was  Ma- 
demoiselle Clemence  Royer,  who  had  voluntarily 
elected  to  follow  Pascal  Duprat  into  exile.  She 
had  opened  her  Course  of  Philosophy  at  Lausanne. 
Her  first  lecture,  Introduction  to  Philosophy, 
had  a  great  success.  The  most  erudite  professors 
in  that  science  pronounced  her  able  and  well  quali- 
fied in  her  turn  to  occupy  the  professorial  chair 
in  that  department  of  human  knowledge.     She  had 

[213] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


a  rather  masculine  appearance.  She  went  but  little 
into  general  society,  but  her  delivery  was  made  in 
a  clear  high  pitch  with  considerable  authority. 
Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer  had  read  Les  Idees 
Anti-Proudhoniennes.  I  shall  never  forget  with 
what  contempt  she  took  the  measure  of  my  physical 
self,  when  presented  to  her  by  Edmond  Texier, 
who  anticipated  no  inconsiderable  entertainment 
from  this  introduction. 

Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer  subjected  me  to 
a  kind  of  examination  in  a  corner  of  the  drawing- 
room,  into  which  she  had,  so  to  speak,  driven  me. 
Texier,  pretending  to  be  terror-struck,  as  if  I 
were  running  some  considerable  danger,  gave  me 
an  irresistible  desire  to  laugh.  I  had  just  been 
having  a  conversation  with  him  in  which  wit  played 
a  larger  share  than  knowledge,  and  I  was  still  in 
a  lively  mood  from  its  effect.  Mademoiselle 
Clemence  Royer  struck  me  as  a  trifle  too  pedantic, 
but  I  must  confess  I  indulged  in  too  much  frivolity 
in  my  replies  to  her. 

She  stood  up,  after  one  of  my  repartees,  which 
Texier  considered  extremely  witty,  and  said  in  her 
high-pitched  manner: 

"  You  are  lacking  in  criteria,  Madame." 
These  words,  under  the  circumstances,  made  me 
more    frivolous    than    ever,    and    as    Mademoiselle 

[214] 


I  MAKE  FRIENDS— AND  ENEMIES 

Clemence  Royer  held  a  university  diploma,  I,  like- 
wise rising,  retorted : 

"  My  university  baggage,  Mademoiselle,"  put- 
ting an  emphasis  on  both  words,  "  has  hitherto 
been,  I  must  confess,  far  inferior  to  yours ;  but  if 
it  lacks  weight,  it  has  at  any  rate  not  had  the  dis- 
advantage of  causing  any  one  to  sink." 

The  cut  was  unkind.  The  intimacy  of  Made- 
moiselle Clemence  Royer  with  Pascal  Duprat  had 
been  the  cause  of  much  unhappiness  to  the  deserted 
wife,  who  openly  complained,  and  whose  grief  in- 
spired general  interest. 

Edmond  Texier  alone  heard  the  words.  He  re- 
peated what  had  passed  between  Mademoiselle 
Clemence  Royer  and  myself.  The  fair  philosopher 
never  forgave  me  this  indiscretion,  that  I  in  no 
way  had  provoked.  Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer, 
Monsieur  Pascal  Duprat,  joined  with  Madame 
d'Hericourt  and  with  several  stanch  friends  of 
Proudhon,  became  my  most  formidable  enemies.  I 
have  to  thank  them  for  some  trifling  wounds  re- 
peatedly made  fresh  again. 

Madame  d'Agoult,  who  heard  of  this  passage  of 
arms  from  Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer,  repri- 
manded me  most  severely  and  told  me  I  deserved 
all  that  might  ensue  from  the  malice  of  the  fair 
philosopher.     I  assured  her  I  had  not  breathed  a 

[215] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


word  to  any  one  of  the  occurrence.  She  also  put 
searching  questions  to  Texier,  who,  in  his  turn, 
had  to  confess  that  he  had  been  telling  his  friends 
all  about  it. 

"  You  have  made  implacable  enemies  for  our 
young  friend,  who  in  no  way  needs  them,"  said 
Madame  d'Agoult  to  Texier. 


[216] 


^i^fefeaL^a^] 


CHAPTER    XI 

LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES,    AND    MUSICAL 


SFTER  so  many  postponements  that  we  were 
well  on  to  the  end  of  September,  a  day  was 
finally  settled  for  the  projected  visit  to  Madame 
Vilbort  at  Neuilly.  No  one  failed  to  answer  their 
names  at  the  muster.  I  went  down  with  Jourdan, 
and  we  both  endured  some  teasing,  as  they  all  said 
we  had  agreed  to  meet  beforehand.  About  was 
already  there  with  his  bosom  friend,  Sarcey  de 
Suttieres,  for  whom  he  had  begged  an  invitation, 
and  for  whom  he  had  just  procured  the  post  of 
dramatic  critic  for  the  Opinion  Nationale.  Sar- 
cey was  already  writing  his  first  Monday  criticisms 
with  no  small  amount  of  success. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  adequately  the  contrast 
that  existed  between  About  and  Sarcey  at  this 
period.  Sarcey  was  just  as  provincial  and  correct 
in  habits  and  in  manner  of  speaking  as  About  was 
out  and  out  "  Second  Empire  " — Parisian.  Com- 
ing together  very  young  their  minds  were  in  pre- 
cise juxtaposition  one  to  the  other,  and  especially 
in  the  spirit  of  contradiction.  Neither  of  them  had 
the  slightest  conception  of  self,  but  each  desired 

[217] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


to  make  his  friend  shine.  The  tender  admiration 
of  Sarcey  for  About  made  him  promptly  sympa- 
thetic. His  countenance  would  brighten  up  when 
his  "  old  friend,"  one  of  his  favourite  expressions 
at  this  time,  threw  into  the  conversation  some  un- 
expected and  brilliant  sally,  to  which  we  could  not 
but  give  its  due  praise,  either  by  an  involuntary 
exclamation  or  by  an  open  compliment.  It  looked 
as  if  Sarcey  had  himself  provoked  that  phrase  of 
Germaine,  in  his  favourite  book  by  About :  "  We 
return  inward  thanks  to  the  person  who  compels 
us  to  deliver  our  best  speech  or  to  tell  our  favourite 
story." 

Vilbort,  like  a  good  and  worthy  foreigner,  loved 
to  ask  questions,  to  which  would  come  a  torrent  of 
replies  from  About,  in  his  most  playful  and  scep- 
tical manner,  but  Sarcey,  in  all  seriousness,  in  the 
midstream  of  his  friend's  raillery,  would  compel 
him  to  direct  his  mind  into  his  channel  of  thought. 

About  and  Sarcey  had  never  been  separated; 
during  their  school-days  they  were  together  at 
Massin's  Academy,  then  at  Charlemagne,  and 
finally  at  the  Ecole  Normale,  where  they  were  con- 
temporary with  Taine,  Weiss,  Assolant,  Prevost- 
Paradol,  and  others. 

One  of  About's  books,  La  Question  Romaine, 
much   preoccupied   Vilbort,    for  during  breakfast 

[218] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 


he  repeatedly  returned  to  the  subject.  Meline,  his 
friend,  the  Brussels  publisher,  he  had  vainly  plied 
with  questions.  Meline  knew  nothing.  Our  host 
probably  had  running  in  his  mind  some  scheme  of 
"  correspondence,"  for  the  later-day  "  interview  " 
had  not  yet  become  fashionable. 

La  Question  Romaine  was  printed  in  Belgium, 
and  it  can  easily  be  imagined  that  gossip  and  com- 
mentaries had  ample  room  for  conjecture.  About 
was  highly  delighted  with  the  numberless  inter- 
rogatories to  which  he  was  subjected  with  regard 
to  this  book.  He  usually  went  full  speed  ahead 
from  the  first  words. 

"  Oh !  you  also  want  to  know  if  the  Emperor 
sketched  the  portrait  of  Pius  IX.  I  am  graciously 
allowed  the  sole  merit  of  drawing  that  of  Anto- 
nelli."  In  truth,  one  can  scarcely  imagine  Napo- 
leon, whose  humour  could  hardly  be  called  gay, 
writing  of  the  Cardinal,  that  "  he  pronounces  his 
blessing  with  unction,  but  forgives  with  difficulty ; 
that  rumour  credits  him  with  telling  fortunes,  and 
that  one  kneels  down  before  him.  I  must  confess 
I  here  recognise  with  difficulty  the  style  of  the 
author  of  L'Extinction  du  Pauperisme." 

The  credit  of  one  of  the  most  poignant  strokes 
in  the  character  of  Antonelli  belongs  to  Sarcey: 

"  He  was  born  in  a  den.  Sonnino  is  better 
15  [  219  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


known  in  the  '  Annals  of  Crime  '  than  ever  Arcadia 
was  in  '  Nature.'  " 

"  But  really,"  began  Vilbort,  for  the  third  time 
of  asking,  while  About  seemed  not  to  catch  the  pre- 
cise question  put  to  him,  "  has  the  Emperor,  yes  or 
no,  commanded  you,  as  is  said,  to  write  this  book?  " 

"  No,  the  Cat  commanded  me." 

"  Come,  About,  the  whole  world  is  perfectly  well 
aware  that  with  reference  to  Italian  affairs  the 
Emperor  is  never  in  agreement  with  his  ministers. 
He  is  always  ahead  of  them.  Now,  is  there  any- 
thing extraordinary,  if,  through  the  intermediary 
of  your  friend  Prince  Napoleon,  with  whom  at  all 
times  the  Emperor  has  held,  as  near  as  can  be,  sim- 
ilar views  on  Italian  affairs,  his  Majesty  should  re- 
quest you  to  handle  the  Italian  question  with  your 
recognised  talent  and  specious  appearance  of  in- 
dependence? " 

"  I  say,  Vilbort,  are  you  seeking  a  challenge? 
Have  I  been  enticed  into  an  ambush  here?  If  you 
tell  me  again,  my  Belgian  friend,  I  have  a  sort  of 
specious  appearance  of  independence,  not  even 
your  good  and  succulent  breakfast  will  prevent  my 
impaling  you,  unless  you  at  once  eat  your  words." 

"  Well,  I  retract  them  in  utter  confusion." 

"  That's  right.  What  would  Jourdan  of  the 
Siecle   say,   if   in   the   very   first   numbers   of   the 

[220] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

Opinion  Nationale,  the  editors  were  busy  exchang- 
ing dishonouring  insults?  " 

"  I  should  say,"  retorted  the  kindly  Jourdan, 
"  that  Vilbort  did  not  give  to  his  words  the  same 
connotation  as  you  attributed  to  them." 

"  That  is  perfectly  true,"  chimed  in  Vilbort. 
"  I  simply  meant " 

About  raised  his  arm. 

"  The  cause  has  been  heard !  " 

"  True,  the  cause  has  been  heard,  but  only  on 
one  point  as  to  the  question  of  insult,"  added  Ma- 
dame Vilbort,  with  her  winsome  smile.  "  The  main 
question  still  remains  open.  Did  the  Emperor  sug- 
gest? " 

"  Please  do  not  press  me,  fair  lady,"  answered 
About  gallantly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  want  you  to  say  that  he  did  prompt 
the  suggestion,"  exclaimed  Madame  Vilbort. 

Vilbort  could  hardly  restrain  his  exuberance. 

"  Well  played !  my  wife,  well  played !  "  he  re- 
peated. 

Sarcey  looked  anxious,  but  About  replied  with 
a  smile: 

"  Well,  yes.  It  was  the  Emperor  himself  who 
suggested  I  should  write  La  Question  Romaine, 
in  the  spirit  my  independence  fancied.  Do  you 
understand,    Vilbort,    independence?     '  There    can 

[221  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


never  be  too  much  discussion  on  this  subject,' 
Napoleon  III  said  to  me.  '  Every  Frenchman,'  he 
added,  '  must  hold  his  personal  opinion  on  this 
question.'  The  Emperor  read  the  proof  of  my 
book,  approved  of  it,  but  stopped  its  publication. 
Now  there  is  the  mystery  unveiled.  You  may  take 
it,  but  subject  to  the  condition  that  Jourdan,  who  is 
honour  personified,  gives  me  his  word  not  to  breathe 
a  single  word  of  it  in  the  columns  of  the  Siecle." 

"  I  readily  give  you  such  assurance,"  came  the 
reply. 

"  And  that  you,  Vilbort,  only  communicate  such 
information  abroad,  as  a  mere  supposition,  based 
on  some  random  and  indiscreet  words  from  my 
friend  Sarcey." 

"  No !  no !  "  interrupted  Sarcey,  "  I  cannot  agree 
to  such  a  jest." 

"  Then  Vilbort  must  say  that  this  story  is  being 
circulated  far  and  wide  by  the  inflexible  Juliette 
Lamber ;  and  as  she  can  prove  her  words,  she  defies 
me  to  deny  it." 

"  This  is  strictly  true,"  I  replied.  "I  can  prove 
my  words,  as  I  have  heard  the  story  from  the  very 
lips  of  the  Emperor  himself.  No  one  can  possibly 
deny  this." 

There  was  no  danger  to  be  apprehended  from 
Vilbort  compromising  About,  as  he  was  both  dis- 

[222] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 


creet  and  clever.  He  had  copy  for  his  "  corre- 
spondence," and  that  was  all  he  needed.  The  con- 
versation turned  on  other  topics.  We  discussed 
literature,  and  the  two  nurslings  of  the  Normalc 
delivered  the  most  interesting  lecture  on  literature 
that  it  had  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  listen  to. 
About  said  that  "  good  writing  was  produced 
rather  under  the  influence  of  speech  than  of 
thought.  That  good  description  must  have  the 
movement  and  life  of  the  mind  speaking,  rather 
than  that  of  the  mind  composing.  Ornament  was 
added  on  a  second  reading,  and  was  not  to  be 
despised,  but  should  be  simple  and  unadorned,  and 
that  such  embellishment  was  best  attained  by  the 
choice  of  graceful  and  elegant  words,  which  im- 
parted to  the  narration  a  genial  and  kindly  tone." 

"  This  is  all  very  well,"  replied  Sarcey,  "  for 
you  who  have  the  unique  facility  of  writing  with 
perspicacity  even  on  the  most  complicated  and 
abstruse  subjects.  As  for  me,  I  can  only  attain 
embellishment  by  the  adoption  of  the  common- 
place, nay,  even  of  the  hackneyed.  In  truth,  when 
I  am  unable  to  produce  ornament  by  native  inspira- 
tion I  seek  to  gain  it  by  quoting  others." 

At  that  time  we  liberally  indulged  in  quotation. 
Deftly  placed,  a  quotation  serves  to  demonstrate 
that  the  mind  is  either  learned  or  daintily  appar- 

[  223  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


elled.  It  lends  grace  or  weight,  as  the  case  may 
be,  to  the  subject-matter  of  discourse  or  style.  The 
dullards  and  the  mediocre  quickly  find  their  level 
in  the  selection  of  quotation,  which  they  choose 
and  place  inappositely  and  unseasonably.  Clever 
people  read,  at  the  time  I  am  speaking  of, 
both  for  the  pleasure  of  reading  and  also  because 
it  added  graceful  ornament  to  their  conversation 
and  writings. 

Sarcey  told  me  he  much  admired  my  spirited 
attack  on  Proudhon,  as  it  had  shown  that  this  re- 
doubtable debater,  whom  no  one  dared  challenge, 
was  not  completely  invulnerable. 

"  Yes,  he  has  fissures,"  then  said  About,  "  into 
which  one  can  insert  a  wedge,  but  what  exquisite 
form  is  his,  what  language,  how  skilfully  beaten 
out  and  worked  in !  " 

"  A  murrain  to  these  people  with  their  form ; 
they  are  just  like  Veuillot,  isn't  it  so,  Jourdan?  I 
grant,  if  you  like,  they  have  cleverness  and  talent, 
but  value  they  have  none,  because  value  depends 
on  sincerity;  they  are  mere  humbugs  whose  sole 
aim  is  to  dazzle ;  they  are  like  impotent  people  who 
destroy  for  destroying's  sake." 

Vilbort  left  us  during  the  afternoon  on  urgent 
business  and  only  returned  for  dinner. 

The  day  was  spent  most  agreeably  in  a  beautiful 

[224] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

garden,  with  perfect  weather.  About  and  Sarccy 
engaged  in  interesting  conversation,  attentively 
listened  to  by  a  clever  man  like  Jourdan,  whose 
kindness,  almost  paternal,  was  freely  vouchsafed  to 
both,  and  by  two  young,  and — why  hesitate  over 
the  word — pretty  women,  with  whom  their  bril- 
liant wit,  as  it  were,  coquetted.  Sarcey  let  drop  a 
phrase  in  his  semiinnocent,  semibantering  way, 
which,  appearing  in  the  conversation  at  an  unex- 
pected turn,  produced  in  About  one  of  those  bursts 
of  hearty  laughter  that  only  friends  indulge  in 
at  the  narration  of  a  good  and  well-known  story. 
The  phrase  was :  "  I  prefer  Boileau !  "  With  what 
delicate  wit  did  Sarcey  repeat  the  phrase. 

We  talked  of  the  stage.  About  sang  the  praises 
of  the  dramatic  critic  of  the  Opinion  Nationale 
in  a  manner  not  easily  forgotten.  I  have  never 
read  or  listened  to  anything  of  Sarcey' s  from  that 
day  forth  without  calling  to  mind  the  brotherly 
and  perspicuous  criticisms  pronounced  by  About 
upon  his  friend. 

"  That  fellow  is  a  first-class  critic,"  About  used 
to  say.  "  He  is  of  noble  lineage.  He  is  bound  to 
influence  his  generation  either  in  forming  or  de- 
forming its  dramatic  spirit.  He  will  not  be  busy 
stalking  innumerable  small  fowl,  like  so  many 
others.     He  is  easy-going,  not  seeking  to  provoke 

[  225  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


his  adversaries,  but  is  tenacious  of  purpose.  While 
other  men  are  in  hot  pursuit  of  the  unattainable, 
he  will  just  be  found  quietly  going  on  the  even 
tenor  of  his  own  way." 

"  Well,  you  have  a  ready  method  to  compel  my 
destiny  to  follow  your  prophetic  predictions,"  said 
Sarcey,  "  and  that  is  by  just  continuing  to  me  the 
support  of  your  shoulders." 

Sarcey,  in  spite  of  our  smiles,  took  up  the  cudgels 
in  defence  of  Scribe.  No  man,  in  his  opinion, 
understood  so  thoroughly  the  drama.  Emile 
Augier  he  worshipped,  and  he  used  to  say,  with 
irresistible  logic,  "  that  Augier  was  without  rival, 
because  he  concentrated  himself  on  dramatic 
writing." 

The  Chapeau  de  Paille  d'ltalie,  analyzed  by 
Sarcey,  became  a  masterpiece.  He  admired  Mari- 
vaux,  as  a  master  and  charmer  in  the  art  of  dainty 
writing.  On  Corneille  he  was  quite  fanatic,  know- 
ing whole  passages  of  him  by  heart,  and  had  never 
missed  a  classical  representation  of  the  master 
since  his  coming  to  Paris. 

"  Critics,  like  actors,  are  only  made  perfect  by 
repertory,"  was  Sarcey's  dictum. 

He  was  bold  enough  to  confess  in  the  face  of 
About's  remonstrances,  he  could  not  understand 
Shakespeare.      To   him,   Musset,   in   spite   of   our 

[  226] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 


united  loud  protests,  was  but  a  triflcr,  whose  dra- 
matic effusions  wearied  people  with  the  stage;  the 
younger  Dumas  was  a  distinguished  philosopher, 
but  a  barbarian  in  matters  dramatic.  He  became 
quite  warm  at  the  mention  of  the  Fils  Naturel. 

"  You  are  a  little  narrow-minded,"  interrupted 
About.  "  You  are  a  member  of  that  well-balanced 
and  exclusive  caste  that  is  dying  out  in  France  but 
all  too  rapidly.  A  caste  essentially  judicious, 
proud  of  its  learned  traditions,  jealous  to  receive 
a  command,  and  which  numbers  in  its  ranks  such 
distinguished  masters  as  Rabelais,  Voltaire,  Mon- 
taigne, Racine,  and  Moliere." 

"  Excuse  me.  I  must  add  Boileau,"  cried  Sar- 
cey.     "  And — Corneille." 

"  Boileau  is  your  staff  of  life,"  gaily  put  in 
About.  "  Corneille  is  the  castellan  whom  you  are 
proud  to  salute,  but  he  is  far  too  ceremonious  for 
your  taste." 

"  Impudent  fellow !  " 

"  Do  you  really  mean  you  prefer  Les  Lionnes 
pauvres  to  the  Fils  Naturel?  "  asked  Jourdan. 

"  I  emphatically  do ;  even  in  collaboration.  Au- 
gier  is  a  king  of  kings  of  dramatic  writers.  Dumas 
is  dazzling,  is  as  witty  as  About,  but  in  his  moral- 
ity, in  his  sensibility,  in  his  affection,  he  is  im- 
moral, fantastic,  personal,  and  dry." 

[227] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Sarcey  de  Suttieres,"  said  About,  "  you  are 
logical  but  unfair;  you  are  obstinate  but  enthusias- 
tic; you  will  go  further  than  the  Janins,  the  Gau- 
tiers,  the  Saint-Victors." 

About  was  now  making  a  good  deal  of  money, 
and  was  not  a  little  vain  of  this.  Only  a  few  years 
previously  he  was  in  great  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ment. But  his  liberality  increased  directly  with  his 
fortune.  Hailing  from  Lorraine,  he  was  devoted 
to  his  province,  and  he  befriended  all  his  country- 
men. He  mentioned  two  of  them  to  us  with  en- 
thusiasm. I  heard  their  names  for  the  first  time, 
Erckmann  and  Chatrian.  About  promised  to  send 
me  Le  Docteur  Matheus.  "  Though  living 
apart,  their  collaboration  is  most  harmonious ; 
but,"  he  added,  "  they  have  that '  inner  agreement ' 
which  every  Lorrainian  has  for  every  other  Lor- 
rainian." 

After  these  words,  pronounced  very  slowly, 
About  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  gather- 
ing his  thoughts.  I  looked  at  Sarcey,  who  seemed 
to  say  to  me,  "  This  is  serious." 

"  Erckmann  and  Chatrian,"  continued  About, 
with  visible  emotion,  "  will  teach  France  what  she 
knows  not  yet  of  the  first  Empire,  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, of  the  courage  of  our  beloved  eastern  prov- 
inces.    I    am    aware    of    their    aim,    which    is    to 

[228] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

make  every  Frenchman  love  the  frontier  prov- 
inces, and  especially  those  which  touch  Germany. 
For  Germany,  mark  you,  means  to  take  them 
from  us." 

We  were  now  in  presence  of  another  About, 
whom  I  found  again  later  an  ardent  and  anxious 
patriot,  because  he  always  feared  and  always  re- 
alized the  Germanic  danger. 

With  their  names  hardly  yet  "  made,"  as  we  say 
to-day,  About  loudly  extolled  Erckmann  and  Cha- 
trian,  just  as  he  extolled  Sarcey.  Literary  com- 
radeship at  this  period  was  active  and  real.  There 
was  an  element  of  pleasure  in  performing  an  act 
of  sacrifice  for  a  friend.  Normalians  were  ever 
ready  to  help  one  another,  each  trying  to 
do  for  his  friend  what  in  his  power  lay. 
The  spirit  of  competition  did  not  engender  the 
base  feelings  of  jealousy  and  envy.  In  all  the 
rungs  of  the  ascending  ladder  of  place,  whether  of 
art,  or  literature,  or  scholarship,  a  remnant  of 
Christian  education  had  taught  each  man  to  do  to 
his  fellow  as  he  would  be  done  by,  and  this  noble 
sentiment  greatly  mitigated  the  asperities  of  the 
social  struggle. 

The  English  spirit  of  a  Darwin  had  not  yet 
crushed  in  the  souls  of  our  sons  that  noble  gener- 
osity of  their  race,  and  that  generation  did  not  sum 

[229] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


up  its  faith  in  the  doctrine  that  life  consists  in 
the  mere  brutal  and  ferocious  struggle  for  ex- 
istence. 

The  elders  who  had  reached  the  top  of  the  tree 
helped  the  young  ones  to  climb  the  traditional 
stages  reached  by  them.  Brotherhood  even  yet 
had  its  intrinsic  value.  The  claims  of  free  thought, 
in  spite  of  its  pretensions,  like  every  other  right 
to  be  vindicated,  still  preserved  undefiled  the  sacred 
duty  of  obligation  to  one's  neighbour.  Once  these 
claims  were  made  good,  we  all  know  what  it  has 
made  of  duty. 

Youth,  confident  in  the  help  of  its  elders,  was 
actuated  at  tins  period  by  a  kindly  and  fraternal 
spirit,  which  was  called  philosophy,  because  it  made 
them  realize  that  they  were  not  isolated  atoms. 
Those  who  are  possessed  by  the  frenzy  to  be  quick- 
ly, quickly  famous,  tearing  on  madly  in  the  pur- 
suit of  position,  did  not  at  this  time  block  up  the 
highways  and  cause  those  shocks  which  threaten 
to  crush  down  utterly  every  other  wayfarer  of  life. 
The  feverish  haste  to  be  first  in  the  race  of  success 
did  not  leave  behind  it  those  ghastly  traces  of  the 
mangled  multitude.  One  could  reasonably  hope 
to  be  successful  in  letters  or  in  art,  by  talents,  in- 
dustry, gifts,  attainments,  the  help  of  friends,  and 
by  the  encouragement  of  those  who  had  "  arrived." 

[230] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

Everything  depended  on  a  man's  worth,  and  not 
on  speed. 

The  new  battalions  accepted  from  their  fore- 
fathers the  idea  of  superiors  without  favouritism. 
Socialism,  even  communism,  flowed  freely  from  the 
great  schools  of  Saint-Simon,  of  Fourier,  of  Pierre 
Leroux;  the  principles  of  union  of  association 
meant  for  them  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest 
number  rather  than  that  of  the  individual.  To-day 
the  words  signify  to  us  who  have  grown  older  the 
exact  opposite  of  their  original  meaning:  social- 
ism spells  disintegration ;  communism,  a  brutal 
trampling  down ;  association,  exploitation ;  philoso- 
phy, negation;  value,  brutal  strength. 

I  pretty  nearly  knew  by  heart  the  whole  of  Elle 
et  Lui,  so  much  had  I  heard  of  it  since  the  beginning 
of  the  year.  I  did  not  read  it  in  the  Revue  des  deux 
Mondes,  and  the  volume  had  been  lying  unopened 
on  my  table  for  some  months.  I  no  more  dared 
begin  the  book  than  read  Horace  or  Nelida.  That 
I  might  not  appear  too  innocent  and  naive  in  my 
own  circle,  I  talked  of  "  love,  lovers,  mistresses, 
attachments,"  like  the  rest;  but  I  still  preserved 
inviolate  certain  prejudices,  which  my  provincial 
bringing-up  had  deeply  rooted  within  me.  I  ad- 
mired George  Sand,  I  loved  Madame  d'Agoult, 
as  natures  of  a  higher  order,  but  nothing  gave 

[231  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


me  greater  pain  than  to  hear  their  adventures  dis- 
cussed. I  was  ever  prompt  to  defend  them,  and 
to  establish  their  right  to  act  like  the  man  whose 
name  they  bore.  I  did  not  wish  to  judge  them  as 
women. 

One  day,  as  we  were  walking  in  the  Avenue  de 
l'Imperatrice,  Madame  d'Agoult  spoke  to  me  of 
George  Sand.  She  had  an  old  grudge  against  her 
dating  back  from  the  early  days  of  Horace,  and 
she  was  actuated  with  a  similar  spirit  of  envy 
against  Balzac,  on  account  of  Beatrice  ou  les 
Amours  Forcees.  She  could  not  find  in  herself  to 
forgive  either  of  them,  and  her  usual  generous  and 
liberal  indulgence  to  so  many  persons  and  things 
came  to  a  sudden  stop  at  the  mere  mention  of  the 
name  of  either  Balzac  or  Madame  Sand,  when  she 
became  most  aggressive  and  bitter. 

"  Have  you  read  Elle  et  Lui? "  Madame 
d'Agoult  abruptly  asked  me. 

"  No,  Madame,  I  have  not,  but  it  lies  on  my 
table  to  read." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  Sainte- 
Beuve's  private  opinion  of  this  '  novel.'  Only 
last  night,  after  many  pressing  interrogations,  I 
at  last  managed  to  extract  from  him  his  candid 
opinion  of  Elle  et  Lui.  '  To  my  mind,'  he  said, 
'  it  was  a  happy  inspiration  of  Madame  Sand  to 

[232  ] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

throw  what  she  had  to  say  into  the  form  of  a 
novel  rather  than  in  that  of  an  autobiography  or 
memoirs.  I  am  bound  to  say,  however,  I  am  ex- 
ceedingly averse  to  this  kind  of  very  personal  and 
intimate  revelation.'  " 

Sainte-Beuve  at  this  time  was  betraying  George 
Sand  to  please  Madame  d'Agoult,  as  he  was  on 
terms  of  great  intimacy  with  her,  and  scarcely  ever 
appeared  at  her  receptions. 

"  Truth  to  tell,  when  one  has  had  such  a  number 
of  lovers,"  said  Daniel  Stern,  and  she  cruelly  reck- 
oned them  up  one  by  one  on  her  fingers,  "  it  seems 
to  me  almost  ridiculous  to  affect  such  extreme  and 
precise  sensibility  to  one  more  or  less  set  down  to 
one's  account.  If  he  was  not  her  lover  at 
that  time,  at  any  rate  he  was  '  after.'  For  that 
doctor  from  Venice  has  his  place  in  the  series, 
you  know !  " 

It  is  difficult  to  express  what  I  was  suffering 
during  this  conversation. 

I  hesitated  to  reply.  If  only  I  had  read  the 
book,  I  perhaps  might  have  hit  on  some  argument. 

"  Here  is  a  sentence  of  hers  which  she  has  often 
repeated,"  rejoined  Mad  'me  d'Agoult,  "  and 
which  gives  you  the  key  to  the  whole  character  of 
the  woman :  '  Many  fancies  flit  through  my  brain, 
but  my  heart  has  never  worn  itself  out.'  " 

[233] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


I  timidly  remarked  that  as  George  Sand  always 
affected  rather  strong  masculine  tendencies  and 
that  as  her  genius  placed  her  eminently  in  the  order 
of  intellectual  men,  we  should  not  perhaps  judge  of 
her  as  a  woman. 

My  beloved  friend  fixed  on  me  her  deep  fathom- 
ing eyes.  I  stood  her  gaze;  her  gestures  and  ex- 
pression betokened  some  impatience,  but  she  re- 
mained silent. 

"  Everybody  recognises  you,"  I  continued  quiet- 
ly, "  in  the  Arabella  of  Les  Lettres  d'un  Voyageur, 
where  George  Sand  has  portrayed  you  with  so 
much  poetry." 

"  Yes,  you  defended  us  both  against  Proudhon, 
and  you  do  not  wish — "  said  Madame  d'Agoult, 
slowly ;  and  then  angrily  proceeded :  "  My  dear 
child,  let  me  give  you  some  good  advice.  Never 
become  intimate  with  Madame  Sand.  You  will  lose 
all  your  illusions  about  her.  As  a  woman,  pardon 
me,  I  mean  as  a  man,  she  is  beneath  contempt.  She 
has  no  conversation.  She  lives  in  a  dream.  She 
confesses  this  herself.  She  has  all  the  appearance 
of  not  being  awake.  If  it  were  not  for  the  inces- 
sant rolling  and  smoV.ing  of  her  cigarette,  you 
would  readily  believe  she  was  asleep  with  her  eyes 
open." 

Then  Madame  d'Agoult  found  fault  with  one  of 

[  234  ] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

George  Sand's  most  beautiful  qualities,  her  kind- 
heartedness. 

"  She  gives  away  pretty  nearly  all  she  earns  and 
is  often  in  difficulties,  but  she  will  never  appeal  to 
those  whom  she  has  obliged  with  a  hundred  favours 
and  who  would  be  glad  to  help  her.  She  appears 
to  have  a  sort  of  contempt  for  those  whom  she  has 
benefited." 

Madame  d'Agoult  had  known  more  than  one  of 
the  heroes  of  George  Sand's  books,  and  among 
others  one  of  the  Mauprats.  And  she  repeated  to 
me  what  he  said  about  George  Sand. 

"  Her  lovers  are  to  her  a  piece  of  chalk,  where- 
with she  scratches  on  the  blackboard.  When  she 
has  finished  she  crushes  the  chalk  under  her  foot, 
and  there  remains  but  the  dust,  which  is  quickly 
blown  away." 

"How  is  it,  my  esteemed  and  beloved  friend,  you 
have  never  forgiven?  "  I  asked,  with  sadness. 

"  Because  the  wound  inflicted  has  not  healed 
yet.  Conscious  that  I  had  put  my  whole  life  and 
soul  into  my  love  for  Liszt,  she  tried  to  take  him 
away  from  me.   .   .   ." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  so?  " 

"  He  spent  his  whole  time  in  concealing  from 
me  the  declarations  of  other  women." 

"  How  distressing  it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  more 
16  [  235  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


*  diminutive  ones '  that  two  such  giantesses  as 
Daniel  Stern  and  George  Sand  cannot  be  recon- 
ciled." 

"  This  will  never  come  about." 

I  mentioned  our  conversation  to  de  Ronchaud, 
who  added: 

"  This  is  one  of  my  regrets.  Madame  Sand,  I 
believe,  would  have  contemplated  a  reconciliation ; 
in  fact,  I  am  certain  she  would.  If  people  only 
knew  what  a  very  treasury  of  kindness  she  is !  She 
but  barely,  even  if  at  all,  defended  herself  in  Elle 
et  Lui.  And  then  if  she  had  but  said  all  there !  She 
is  stanch,  she  is  truth  personified.  I  have  said  so 
a  hundred  times  over,  and  I  will  say  so  all  my  life. 
You  are  quite  right  to  judge  her  by  the  standard 
of  a  man.  She  has  none  of  the  irresolution  and 
vanities  of  her  sex.  Her  soul  has  caused  her  much 
suffering.  She  is  more  of  an  idealist  than  a  sensa- 
tionalist. She  always  wants  to  love  a  man  at  once 
with  a  loving  friendship,  with  a  friendly  love  and 
a  natural  tenderness.  She  puts  her  whole  soul  into 
her  love,  and  her  soul  is  large.  Her  disillusions  are 
so  unspeakably  distressing  that  she  is  inconsolable 
until  the  native  vigour  of  her  psychical  vitality 
brings  new  life  to  her  lost  illusions.  We  should 
both  of  us  use  our  utmost  efforts  to  effect  a  recon- 
ciliation between  Daniel  Stern  and  George  Sand." 

[236] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

"  Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure." 

As  soon  as  it  came  out,  de  Ronchaud  brought 
me  the  preface  of  Jean  de  la  Roche,  in  which 
George  Sand  answered  her  accusers.  "  Here  is 
the  woman  herself,"  he  said.  "  Let  her  enemies 
attack  her  now.  She  has  supplied  us  with  the 
elements  of  her  defence." 

The  Pere  Prodigue  of  the  younger  Dumas  found 
favour  in  the  eyes  of  Sarcey.  To  be  sure,  his 
criticism  was  reserved,  but  yet  he  was  disarmed, 
one  might  almost  say,  seduced.  I  saw  him  the  first 
night  at  the  Gymnase.  I  was  in  the  Vilborts'  box, 
where  he  came  to  greet  us. 

"  I  am  not  overfond  of  that  everlasting  story 
of  Dumas  the  elder  dished  up  to  us  by  Dumas 
the  younger,"  remarked  Sarcey ;  "  but,  neverthe- 
less, some  of  his  sayings  are  real  gems  of  strength," 
and  with  that  honest  smile  of  his  he  quoted  the 
words  we  had  just  heard: 

"  '  I  have  given  you  my  qualities  and  my  faults 
pellmell.  I  have  always  looked  for  your  affection 
rather  than  your  obedience.  Economy  I  have  not 
taught  you,  as  I  myself  am  ignorant  of  this 
virtue.'  " 

I  met  Paul  de  Saint-Victor  again  at  this  repre- 
sentation, who  called  me  his  "  Greek  friend."  The 
Vilborts   presented  Auguste   Villemot  to   me,   and 

[237] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Aurelien  Scholl,  whom  I  reminded  of  the  episode 
at  the  Michel  Levy  library. 

Jules  Janin,  Theophile  Gautier,  and  all  the  host 
of  critics  came  round  to  our  box  to  pay  their  re- 
spects to  us.  They  were  all  indebted  to  Vilbort  for 
the  measure  and  esteem  with  which  he  mentioned 
them  abroad.  It  was  in  this  way  I  came  to  know 
them.  In  fact,  each  day  was  now  adding  to  my 
literary  acquaintance. 

In  a  letter  to  George  Sand  about  L'Homme  de 
Neige,  I  told  her  I  had  just  been  rereading  the 
series  of  her  rural  novels.  I  said  nothing  to  her 
about  the  motive  which  prompted  me;  for  having 
finished  Elle  et  Lui  I  felt  a  need  to  dip  into  her 
healthier  works.  I  added  that  I  myself  was  much 
more  countrified  than  Parisian,  and  that  I  looked 
back  to  those  days  spent  in  my  native  village  of 
Blerancourt  as  the  happiest  in  my  life.  George 
Sand  wrote  in  reply : 

"  Why  do  you  not  write  the  impressions  of 
that  time  now  that  they  are  fresh  in  your 
memory?  You  have  already  got  a  title  in  Mon 
Village." 

I  thought  it  over  and  began  Mon  Village,  but 
the  reflection  that  my  next  book  which  I  was  to 
write  must  be  brought  out  by  a  leading  publisher 
worried  me  not  a  little. 

[238] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

It  was  at  Madame  Vilbort's  that  I  met  Hetzel, 
who  had  returned  from  exile.  I  had  told  her  of 
my  painful  journey  with  the  book  to  the  various 
publishers,  and  she  knew  Hetzel's  answer,  written 
from  Brussels,  where  he  then  was  staying: 

"  You  probably  use  a  checked  handkerchief  and 
take  snuff." 

Madame  Vilbort,  knowing  she  was  to  receive  an 
afternoon  call  from  Hetzel,  wrote  to  me :  "  Come 
and  amuse  us." 

Of  course  I  arrived  first.  I  took  off  my  hat  to 
give  me  the  appearance  of  belonging  to  the  house. 
It  was  agreed  we  were  to  call  each  other  "  cousin." 
Hetzel  entered.  As  Madame  Vilbort  was  from 
Brussels,  he  brought  her  news  of  her  family.  I  was 
quite  silent,  and  Hetzel  stared  at  me. 

"  My  cousin  and  myself,"  Madame  Vilbort  ob- 
served, as  if  an  introduction  were  an  altogether 
superfluous  ceremony. 

"Will  you  kindly  introduce  me  to  this  lady?" 
suddenly  asked  Hetzel. 

"  Monsieur  Hetzel,  Madame  Juliette  Lamessine, 
authoress  of  Les  Idees  Anti-Proudhoniennes." 

Hetzel  bounded  so  ludicrously  out  of  his  chair 
that  Madame  Vilbort  and  I  could  not  restrain  our 
laughter.  And  in  addition,  he  brought  out  his 
party-coloured  handkerchief  and  took  a  pinch  of 

[239] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


snuff ! ! !     We    could    now    contain    ourselves    no 
longer. 

"  It  is  quite  plain,"  said  Hetzel,  who  had  finished 
by  laughing  also,  "  that  I  am  a  fool ;  but,"  he 
gallantly  added,  "  I  did  not  think  I  was  quite  so 
bad  as  this.  As  such  blunders  with  clever  women 
are  not  habitual  with  me,  I  intend  to  make  up  for 
this  one.  I  therefore  beg  of  you,  Madame,  to  be 
so  good  as  to  let  me  have  your  next  book,  unless,  of 
course,  it  is  already  pledged.  If  it  is  a  novel,  or 
something  approaching,  I  have  an  edition  in  joint 
account  with  Michel  Levy,  and  I  place  it  at  your 
disposal." 

I  then  mentioned  to  him  George  Sand's  advice, 
and  told  him  I  was  following  it. 

"  I  will  publish  Mon  Village,"  said  Hetzel  in 
conclusion. 

I  then  told  him  of  the  difficulty  with  my  husband, 
who,  to  damage  my  literary  career,  had  put  his 
name  to  an  edition  of  my  Idees  Anti-Proudhon- 
iennes,  and  would  allow  me  to  publish  only  under 
my  own  name  with  Dentu  after  endless  discussions 
and  agreements,  the  details  of  which  are  irrelevant 
here. 

"  He  has  no  right  to  do  this,  has  he,  my 
dear  friend? "  indignantly  asked  Madame  Vil- 
bort. 

[  24'°  ] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

"  His  right  is  absolute  if  the  marriage  took  place 
under  the  Joint  Property  Act.  The  reward  of  the 
wife's  labour  becomes  the  absolute  property  of  the 
husband;  even  the  very  wages  of  the  factory  girl 
abandoned  with  her  children  by  the  workman  can 
be  legally  claimed  by  the  wretch  to  be  wasted  in 
debauchery." 

"  It  is  simply  shameful !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  shameful.  You  must  change  your 
name,  Madame,"  Hetzel  said  to  me. 

"  Mine  is  already  so  small  that  the  crumbs  will 
be  of  no  value." 

"  On  the  contrary,  now  is  the  time  you  will  feel 
it  less." 

"  What  name  shall  I  take?  " 

"  Will  you  accept  me  as  your  sponsor?  " 

"  I  am  delighted." 

"  What  is  your  maiden  name?  " 

"  Juliette  Lambert." 

"  With  a  t?" 

"  Yes." 

"  As  we  must  make  some  alteration,  let  us  take 
away  the  t  and  we  shall  then  have  a  name  against 
which  the  Joint  Property  Act  can  have  no  ground 
for  action." 

"  Is  that  so?  " 
"  It  is  so.     I  shall  expect  Mon  Village,  and  I 

[241  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


am  certain  Michel  Levy  will  be  as  glad  as  I  am  to 
atone  for  his  rudeness." 

Hetzel  was  not  only  a  publisher,  resourceful  in 
ideas,  kind  and  paternal  to  budding  authors,  but 
was  also  a  politician  of  respected  character  and  a 
writer  of  eminence  under  the  name  of  P.  J.  Stahl. 
Editor  of  the  National,  in  1848,  he  was  nominated 
Chief  Secretary  to  the  Minister  for  Foreign 
Affairs;  then  Secretary-General  to  the  Executive, 
under  Cavaignac,  whose  devoted  friend  he  became. 
Hetzel  was  destined  on  his  return  from  exile  no 
longer  to  find  him  whom  he  had  ever  called  his 
chief.  General  Cavaignac  passed  away  in  1857, 
succumbing  while  out  shooting  to  the  bursting  of 
an  arterial  tumour. 

Hetzel  took  his  place  among  the  most  brilliant 
conversationalists  of  the  day  in  the  same  company 
with  Henri  Rochefort,  Edmond  About,  Aurelien 
Scholl,  Edmond  Texier,  and  d'Ennery.  As  a 
writer,  his  talents  were  superior  to  his  reputation. 
Sainte-Beuve  often  repeated  in  his  Causeries  du 
Lundi  that  he  classed  Hetzel  as  one  of  the  most 
powerful  story-tellers  of  his  time.  Merimee  unhesi- 
tatingly declared  that  in  humorous  description 
P.  J.  Stahl  outdid  Dickens.  His  sayings  went  all 
round  Paris.  As  soon  as  heard  they  came  to  one's 
lips  with  such  fitness  that  their  timely  repetition 

[  212  ] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 


insured  their  fame.  "  As  Hetzel  says,"  was  fre- 
quently heard  in  our  circle  after  the  amnesty. 

He  himself  read  the  manuscripts  sent  him,  and 
in  his  long  editorial  career  had  learned  to  sum  up 
so  many  books  with  one  word  that  he  judged  a  man 
like  a  book,  and  with  a  bold  definitive  stroke  gave 
you  his  character  and  his  life.  A  Republican  from 
conviction,  impartial  in  his  judgment,  an  ardent 
champion  of  liberty,  unhesitating  in  his  creed,  he 
was  inflexible  in  the  strictness  of  his  principles. 
One  found  in  the  books  of  P.  J.  Stahl  German 
sentimentality,  English  humour,  French  wit,  and 
the  whole  was  welded  together  in  pure  and  unde- 
fined French  by  a  touch  that  was  at  once  personal 
and  original. 

Hetzel,  an  Alsatian  himself,  adored  Alsace.  He 
never  shrank  from  reprimanding  his  authors,  if 
need  arose,  but  his  native  Alsatian  good-nature 
always  mitigated  his  castigation  by  giving  them 
good  advice.  As  a  publisher  he  was  a  perfect 
magician.  He  made  the  reputation  of  Jules  Verne, 
of  the  Erckmann-Chatrians,  and  of  many  others, 
although  he  was  indifferent  to  his  own.  The  whole 
movement  of  illustrated  literature  for  children  is 
due  to  his  initiative.  Mademoiselle  Lili  is  his  own 
daughter.  On  the  subject  of  children  he  became 
inspired  and  wrote  many  admirable  books  for  them. 

[243] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


On  the  1st  of  January  he  always  bewitched  their 
little  hearts  and  minds,  and  parents  were  grateful 
to  him  for  the  useful  lessons  inculcated  in  such  a 
pleasant  way. 

It  was  Hetzel  who  told  me  the  story,  three  or 
four  years  later,  of  a  young  author  who  had  once 
brought  him  a  manuscript,  the  first  two  parts  of 
which  had  given  him  infinite  delight  for  the  artistic 
merit,  both  of  the  subject-matter  and  composition, 
but  to  his  utter  amazement  and  sorrow  the  third 
part  was  so  obscene,  nay,  even  nauseatingly  pruri- 
ent, that  he  turned  away  from  it  in  positive  dis- 
gust. On  the  appointed  day,  when  the  author 
came  to  learn  some  news  of  his  book,  Hetzel  said 

to  him: 

"  When  your  talent  is  such,  sir,  that  you  are 
capable  of  writing  the  first  two  parts  of  a  book 
like  yours,  how  can  you  find  it  in  you  to  dishonour 
your  pen  by  what  you  have  deposited  in  the  third 
part?  What  mental  aberration  can  have  induced 
you  to  become  guilty  of  so  foul  a  reproach  as  a 
criminal  in  letters?  " 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  young  author,  "  the  first  two 
parts  were  written  to  seduce  literary  people  who 
make  reputations;  the  last  part  was  written  for 
those  who  are  to  buy  the  book." 

"  How  dare  you  make  such  a  cynical  confes- 
sion!" [244-] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 


u 


My  object  is  to  teach  the  French  reader  to 
have  a  taste  for  the  depicting  of  vices  which  sur- 
round him.  Truth  chastises  hypocrites,  but  in- 
structs those  who  pretend  to  virtue." 

"A  pretty  object  of  ambition  this  is!  Please 
Heaven,  it  may  not  be  granted  to  you  to  corrupt 
our  readers,  and  to  destroy  all  the  good  we,  and 
those  who  have  gone  before  us,  have  tried  to  do. 
You  are  young  and  you  are  clever.  I  sincerely  trust 
you  will  not  persevere  in  your  unhealthy  wager. 
Believe  me,  clean  and  healthy  books  alone  have 
continuous  sales,  and  are  the  only  ones  acceptable 
to  posterity.  You  have  a  foreign  name.  May  you, 
as  you  become  more  French,  grow  in  wisdom." 

The  young  author  was  Emile  Zola. 

Unhappily  his  work  has  but  too  completely 
realized  his  early  vows.  He  has  cozened  his  read- 
ers even  to  the  point  of  demoralization.  Vice  has 
been  described  and  portrayed  to  satiety,  until  it 
has  made  his  admirers,  and  especially  foreigners, 
believe  that  corruption  reigns  supreme  in  all  classes 
in  France. 

There  was  great  fluttering  in  the  "  pagan " 
dovecots.  De  Ronchaud  related  to  us  the  delight 
of  Berlioz  at  the  coming  revival  of  Gliick's  Or- 
pheus, wluch,  with  Madame  Viardot,  he  was  pre- 
paring for  the  Theatre  Lyrique.     Pauline  Garcia, 

[245] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


the  sister  of  Malibran,  was  said  to  be  simply  mag- 
nificent. 

We,  the  pagans,  were  to  be  there  on  the  first 
night.  De  Ronchaud  and  I  took  a  box  with  a  place 
for  Menard.  Saint-Victor's  orchestra  chair  was 
quite  close  to  us.  At  last  we  were  going  to  have 
our  revenge  on  Orphee  aux  Enfers. 

The  great  night  arrived.  We  devoutly  listened 
to  Madame  Viardot,  supported  by  Berlioz,  and  ap- 
proved by  Carvalho.  She  had  suppressed  all  the 
concessions  made  by  Gliick  to  Legros,  which  added 
a  charm,  perhaps  foreign  to  the  original  intention, 
to  a  character  so  soberly  pathetic,  so  Greek  in  the 
real  tragic  sense  of  the  term,  at  any  rate,  as  the 
three  of  us  comprehended  it. 

Madame  Viardot  was  simply  sublime.  We 
seemed  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  divine  Orpheus  him- 
self. All  her  gestures,  her  expressions,  magnifi- 
cently and  adequately  rendered  the  poignant  and 
distracted  grief  of  antiquity.  She  was  a  suppliant 
without  the  slightest  shadow  or  idea  of  revolt 
against  the  decree  of  Zeus.  The  intense  power  of 
harmony  in  Gliick's  music  gives  to  the  second  act 
of  Orpheus  such  an  impression  of  reality,  such  a 
sense  of  anguish  and  admiration  blended,  that  it 
took  my  breath  away. 

At  the  point  where  Orpheus  sings,  "  I  have  lost 

[246] 


HECTOR  BERLIOZ. 
From  au  engraving  by  Guillermot,  fils. 


/ 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

my  Eurydicc,"  and  the  whole  audience,  with  en- 
thusiastic applause,  cried  for  a  repetition,  and  Ma- 
dame Viardot,  with  yet  more  pathos,  divinely  sang 
"  I  have  lost.  ..."  I  who  have  never  known 
hysteria  fairly  broke  down  and  fainted.  On 
recovering  I  found  that  Menard  was  holding 
my  hand. 

"  This  is  emotion  with  a  vengeance,"  he  said  to 
me.  "  You  have  quite  frightened  me.  Your  pulse 
stopped  beating." 

Since  Orpheus  I  have  but  once  in  my  life  had 
a  similar  experience.  It  was  at  St.  Petersburg, 
when  I  was  listening  to  a  choir  of  several  hundred 
court  singers  chanting  a  mass  of  Palestrina,  un- 
accompanied by  any  instrument,  but  the  harmony 
of  the  voices  seemed  to  produce  an  effect  similar 
to  the  sonorous  and  increasing  resonances  of  an 
orchestra.  My  ecstatic  raptures — I  cannot  find  a 
more  suitable  expression — on  tins  occasion  were 
such  that  I  fainted  quite  away.  The  friends  sur- 
rounding me  were  greatly  alarmed.  We  were  only 
some  twenty  listeners.  When  I  regained  conscious- 
ness I  heard  in  that  delightful  intonation  with 
which  a  Russian  pronounces  French: 

"  For  a  success,  this  is  a  success,  to  admire  to 
the  point  of  dying !  " 

Berlioz  and  Saint-Victor,  leaning  over  our  box, 

[247] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


said  a  few  words  to  us  as  the  people  were  leaving 
the  theatre.  Menard  told  them  of  the  fright  I  had 
given  him.  Berlioz  pressed  my  hand,  and  kept  it 
within  his. 

"  Yes,"  he  remarked,  "  it  is  beautiful  enough, 
it  is  true  enough,  the  torture  of  misfortune  has 
been  sufficiently  endured,  Orpheus  is  Orpheus 
enough,  that  the  expression,  rendered  as  it  has 
been,  should  annihilate  all  the  senses." 

And  he  left  us  repeating: 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  Orpheus." 

I  asked  my  friends  to  take  me  back  on  foot  to 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli. 

On  the  way  Saint-Victor  told  us  that  Madame 
Viardot  was  studying  the  Alcestis,  hoping  to  sing 
it  at  the  opera,  and  that  Berlioz  was  advising  her, 
as  he  had  advised  her  for  Orpheus.  "  Poor  Ber- 
lioz," he  added,  "  is  thinking  of  her  for  his  Tro- 
jans, his  melancholy  Trojans!" 

The  conversation  ran  on  many  topics.  A  book 
had  just  reached  us  from  the  south.  Monsieur  de 
Lamartine  pronounced  it  very  beautiful,  and 
Menard  was  enthusiastic  over  it.  Menard  men- 
tioned to  us  Mistral,  the  author  of  Mireille,  and 
he  had  learned  many  particulars  about  Mistral 
from  Aubanel,  a  mutual  friend  of  both. 

Aubanel !     This  was  the  first  time  I  heard  the 

[248] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 

name  of  this  poet.  Menard  told  me  his  verse  was 
steeped  to  the  hilt  in  the  spirit  of  Greece.  He 
himself  was  following  the  revival  of  the  Provencal 
tongue  with  passionate  interest.  It  can  easily  be 
imagined  that  my  curiosity  was  fired  at  this  in- 
telligence, and  I  plied  Menard  with  numberless 
questions.  I  still  had  very  vague  notions  about 
this  Provencal  poet,  or  "  felibrigist,"  as  he  is  called, 
in  spite  of  the  sensation  caused  by  his  having 
crossed  the  Rhone  and  his  success  at  Nimes,  where 
his  brother  felibrigists  had  improvised  in  prose 
and  verse. 

"  Greece  has  come  to  life  again  in  the  gardens 
of  Saint-Remy.  The  Hellenic  spirit  has  had  a 
new  birth  beneath  the  Phocian  sky.  Just  watch 
that  movement,"  Menard  went  on,  "  and  you  will 
then  understand  to  what  degree  the  poetic  soul 
of  azure-coloured  Provence  is  Attic.  I  consider 
Provencal  a  superb  language.  It  readily  lends 
itself  to  the  expression  of  poetic  and  transcendental 
ideas,  to  tragic  narrative,  and  at  the  same  time 
it  is  exquisitely  mischievous,  witty,  and  warm,  by 
which  I  mean  sunny.  It  is  eminently  healthy, 
turgid,  and  pompous,  or  simple  and  limpid,  in 
turn,  just  as  the  writer  pleases.  Nature  is  painted, 
as  in  Homer's  language,  pictorially  and  imagina- 
tively by  the  use  of  a  single  word.     I  am  certain 

[249] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


you  would  like  the  heroine  of  Mistral,  his  country, 
his  language,  and  the  man  himself." 

"  But  how  can  one  judge  of  him  by  a  transla- 
tion? "  I  asked  Menard. 

"  You  can  very  easily  read  the  original.  With 
the  old  French  of  your  native  Picardy,  a  little 
Latin,  and  Italian,  in  which  you  are  steeped,  you 
have  quite  sufficient  to  allow  you  to  read  Provencal 
with  ease.  To-morrow  I  will  recite  you  a  chapter, 
and  you  can  then  sing: 

"  0  Magali,  ma  tant  amado, 
Mestez  la  teste  au  fenestroun." 

"  Is  it  not  more  difficult  than  that  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  it  is  simply  an  antiquated  French !  " 

"  Just  so." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Saint- Victor,  who  was  be- 
coming impatient  at  Menard's  monologues,  "  I  am 
convinced  that  we  understand  absolutely  nothing 
of  a  language  unless  we  live  with  it,  as  it  were,  for 
many  years,  as  we  do  with  Latin  and  Greek. 
Words  are  but  the  outward  expression  of  things, 
and  we  must  read  deeply  into  things  if  we  wish 
to  read  into  words.  To  my  mind,  '  amado  '  instead 
of  '  aimee,'  and  '  fenestroun  '  instead  of  '  fenetre,' 
seem  simply  bucolic  French;  or,  in  other  words, 
French  badly   pronounced.      It  seems  to  me  that 

[250] 


LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES 


the  French  language,  imbued  from  time  to  time 
with  an  admixture  of  Latin  and  Greek,  is  more 
than  sufficient  for  all  practical  purposes;  nay,  is 
even  what  is  best.  Why  go  out  of  our  way  to  seek 
something  new  in  France?  Mistral,  Aubanel,  Rou- 
manille,  who  are,  I  admit,  real  poets,  would  do  far 
better  to  write  their  verse  in  good  and  pure  French 
for  us  in  the  first  place,  and  then,  if  they  like, 
translate  that  French  into  Provencal  for  the  edifi- 
cation of  their  peasantry." 

"  Saint-Victor,"  exclaimed  Menard,  "  you  are  a 
Bceotian." 

"  Not  at  all,  the  very  reverse.  I  wish  to  remain 
an  Athenian." 


17 


[  251  ] 


CHAPTER  XII 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ,  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 


n 


WAS  invited  one  evening  by  the  Comtesse 
de  Charnace,  daughter  of  the  Comte  and 
Comtesse  d'Agoult,  to  hear  Hans  von  Biilow,  the 
incomparable  pianist.  Billow  was  the  son-in-law 
of  Liszt  and  of  Madame  d'Agoult,  having  married 
their  daughter  Cosima. 

I  knew  Monsieur  von  Biilow,  having  frequently 
met  him  at  Madame  d'Agoult's.  He  was 
an  artist  of  rare  talent,  and  ranked  first  after 
Liszt.  He  always  spoke  of  himself  as  a  very  happy 
man,  possessing,  as  he  did,  a  most  clever  wife  and 
four  daughters,  whom  he  adored. 

We  were  also  to  hear  the  famous  composer,  of 
whom  they  talked  so  much  at  Madame  Vilbort's, 
and  whom  Liszt  and  Hans  von  Biilow  both  consid- 
ered so  full  of  prolific  talent.  His  operas,  Rienzi, 
The  Flying  Dutchman,  Lohengrin,  Tannhauser, 
were  sung  with  success  throughout  Germany,  espe- 
cially at  Weimar  and  at  Berlin.  His  partisans  con- 
sidered him  a  precursor  of  new  musical  ideas  as  we 
considered  Berlioz.  They  were  frequently  con- 
trasted, but  Berlioz  was  really  the  precursor,  the 

[252] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

very  foremost  of  all,  although  he  allowed  the  wor- 
shippers of  Wagner  to  spread  the  report  that 
Wagner  alone  had  endowed  the  world  with  "  the 
music  of  the  future."  Some  persons  used  this 
phrase  as  uncomplimentary  criticism,  others  as  an 
expression  of  praise. 

Hans  von  Biilow  represented  Wagner  to  us  as  a 
victim  of  Saxon  tyranny,  as  a  Democrat  and  a  Rev- 
olutionist. With  the  exception  of  our  host,  Mon- 
sieur de  Charnace,  who,  they  said,  was  a  Legitimist, 
but  who  held  a  high  position  in  the  worlds  of  art 
and  letters,  we  formed  a  Republican  majority  of 
about  twenty-five  persons.  Monsieur  von  Biilow 
was  very  diplomatic  when  he  represented  Wagner 
to  us  as  a  Revolutionist.  "  To  my  mind,"  he  said 
with  tact,  "  he  is  too  far  advanced.  When  you, 
yourselves,  shall  have  progressed  in  that  trend  of 
thought,  you  will  still  find  him  outstepping  you. 
He  resembles  Bakounine  and  .   .   .  Marat !  " 

A  few  days  afterward  I  met  Berlioz  in  the  Court 
of  the  Louvre,  and  spoke  to  him  of  Wagner. 

"  He  has  a  satanical  soul,"  he  said.  "  His  pride 
is  limitless.  He  fancies  himself  the  overtopping 
tree  in  the  musical  forest.  But  that  is  not  so.  He 
belongs  to  the  Mandragora  species.  Woe  to  him 
who  sleeps  under  its  shade !  It  means  death.  Poor 
Biilow !     Wagner  bitterly  hates  every  one  who  has 

[253  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


humiliated  him  by  rendering  him  a  service.  I  know 
something  about  it  myself." 

I  felt  that  evening  at  Monsieur  de  Charnace's 
unbounded  admiration  for  Hans  von  Biilow's  ever- 
developing  talent.  He  was  past  master  in  his  art. 
No  one  gave  in  his  playing  such  power  to  Bee- 
thoven as  he  did,  such  grandeur  to  Mozart,  such 
profound  sentimentality  to  Schumann,  or  inter- 
preted Rameau  with  such  simplicity  and  ease  of 
execution,  or  gave  such  scientific  fantasy  to 
Bach.  I  have  never  since  heard  any  one  play  a 
fugue  of  Bach's  as  he  did.  His  memory  was  so 
prodigious  that  during  a  concert  that  lasted  two  or 
three  hours  he  could  play  throughout  it  without  a 
single  written  note.  Not  being  obliged  to  read 
music,  he  seemed  to  improvise.  The  more  excited 
he  grew  the  nearer  he  seemed  to  reach  a  perfectly 
masterful  interpretation. 

It  was  interesting  to  watch  him  listening  to 
Wagner.  One  would  have  thought  he  was  hearing 
for  the  first  time  the  piece  composed  by  his  favour- 
ite master. 

Wagner  having  just  finished  playing  the  pre- 
lude to  Lohengrin  with  an  orchestral  power  that 
was  simply  marvellous,  Hans  von  Bulow  ap- 
proached Madame  d'Agoult  and  said : 

"  Never   has   anything   been    written    before   to 

[254] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMUND  ADAM 

compare  with  that.  The  inspiration  in  Lohengrin 
is  both  clear  and  ecstatic,  easily  retained  and  de- 
liciously  immaterial.  And  what  art  displayed  in 
the  concerted  parts  as  well  as  in  the  solos !  The 
entrance  of  the  knights  in  the  first  act  is  the  finest 
musical  page  ever  written." 

Wagner  had  heard  these  last  words,  and  smiled 
a  strange  smile.  His  enormous  head  possessed  a 
certain  amount  of  character,  in  the  upper  part,  at 
least ;  his  forehead  was  broad,  elevated,  and  full 
of  intelligence ;  he  had  questioning  eyes,  at  times 
very  soft  and  then  again  very  hard ;  but  his  mouth 
was  ugly  and  threw  out  the  cheeks,  while  a  sar- 
castic movement  brought  the  domineering  chin 
close  to  the  haughty  nose.  He  had  a  singular  face, 
as  antipathetic  in  proportion  as  Hans  von  Billow's 
physiognomy  was  attractive.  Wagner  struck  me 
as  being  caustic,  witty,  and  able  to  converse  on  all 
subjects,  because  he  was  versed  in  them  all.  At 
times  he  would  suddenly  become  vulgar,  personal, 
and  overbearing. 

"  I,  alone,"  he  said,  answering  some  argument 
of  Billow's  on  a  musical  theory,  "  can  do  that. 
No  one  else  in  the  world  would  dare  to  attempt  it. 
Do  you  hear,  Biilow?  " 

"  I  hear,"  said  the  latter  submissively.  "  But 
what  a  strong  head  it  must  require  to  close  such  a 

[255] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


cycle  after  having  opened  it.    Any  other  brain  but 
yours  would  burst  under  the  effort." 

"  Well,"  said  Wagner,  laughing  and  with  his 
German  accent,  "  no  one  has  yet  discovered  whether 
I  am  hydrocephalic  or  a  man  of  genius." 

"  A  little  of  the  first,"  I  said  to  Madame 
d'Agoult  in  a  low  tone. 

"  More  of  the  second,"  she  added,  somewhat 
severely.  Wagner's  hearing  was  very  acute.  He 
had  evidently  listened  to  what  we  had  been  saying, 
as  we  saw  by  the  different  manner  in  which  he 
spoke  to  us  both  afterward. 

He  then  began  to  talk  of  Parisians  with 
much  wit,  and  of  their  way  of  treating  all 
things  with  banter.  He  expressed  his  disappoint- 
ment at  not  being  understood  in  France,  and 
of  his  feelings  at  having  such  a  powerful  rival  in 
Berlioz. 

Madame  d'Agoult,  who  liked  Berlioz  in  spite  of 
his  embittered  character,  and  who  knew  the  state 
of  his  relations  with  Wagner,  replied : 

"  You  are  neither  of  you  made  ever  to  live  at 
peace  with  each  other." 

Although  a  composer  of  talent,  Hans  von  Biilow 
had  produced  nothing  since  he  had  lived  under 
Wagner's  shadow,  and  even  Liszt,  the  author  of 
the  Rhapsodies  and  many  other  beautiful  compo- 

[256] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

sitions,  wrote  nothing  more.  At  Weimar  he  had 
Wagner  played  over  and  over  again.  The  only 
thing  that  preserved  him  from  the  poison  of  the 
Mandragora  was  that  he  had  Berlioz  played  as 
well,  and  no  influence  would  have  prevented 
him  from  placing  him  on  as  high  a  level  as 
Wagner. 

"  The  precursory  genius  of  Berlioz,"  said  Liszt, 
"  compensates  for  other  more  powerful  qualities  in 
Wagner." 

Twenty  years  later  I  saw  Liszt  at  Budapest,  and 
spoke  to  him  of  Wagner.  He  replied  with  bitter- 
ness: 

"  Von  Biilow  and  I  were  his  first  admirers  and 
his  first  slaves.  Nevertheless,  if  any  one  out  of  the 
cortege  of  his  admirers  had  been  won  over  either 
to  my  son-in-law  or  myself,  Wagner  would  have 
seized  the  fact  as  a  pretext  to  break  our  friend- 
ship. One  must  sacrifice  everything  to  him,  even 
one's  own  happiness.  Von  Bulow  has  sacrificed  his 
heroically. 

"Berlioz  has  renovated  the  French  school  of 
music  to  the  advantage  of  all  other  schools.  Wag- 
ner has  continued  the  teachings  of  the  German 
school,  of  which  all  the  traditions  have  been  pre- 
served. Berlioz  preceded  Wagner,  and,  having 
rendered  music  free  from  the  chains  that  bound 

[257] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


it,  Wagner  was  therefore  left  unhampered.  Ber- 
lioz is  obscure  at  times,  because  his  path  was  sur- 
rounded by  darkness,  whereas  Wagner  entered, 
without  hindrance,  the  broad  road  trodden  by  Ger- 
man knights. 

"  No  tradition  of  the  musical  inspiration  of  Ger- 
many was  broken  or  changed  by  Wagner's  influ- 
ence, while,  on  the  other  hand,  Berlioz  seemed  per- 
force obliged  to  make  innovations,  and  the  more  he 
was  enabled  to  prove  that  these  were  correct,  the 
more  people  protested  and  rebelled  against  his 
ideas. 

"  But  see  how  unlike  one  another  men's  char- 
acters can  be.  The  only  revenge  that  Berlioz  took 
of  his  non-success  was  to  make  the  Parisians  admire 
the  old  masters,  such  as  Gliick,  from  whose  genius 
he  drew  his  inspiration,  whereas  Wagner,  amid  his 
greatest  triumphs,  was  jealous  of  the  smallest  suc- 
cess of  others." 

Liszt  admired  the  Damnation  de  Faust,  Romeo 
et  Juliette,  and  the  Troyens  immensely,  and  pre- 
dicted to  me  in  1844  that  "  sooner  or  later  Berlioz's 
music  would  have  its  day  of  renown."  Alas !  poor, 
great  Berlioz !  when  we  were  listening  to  Wagner 
at  Madame  de  Charnace's  that  day  was  still  far 
off. 

It  was  at  this  musical  reception  given  for  Wag- 

[258] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

ncr  that  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  Edmond  Adam, 
who  was  destined  to  take  such  a  great  place  in  my 
life.  He  stood  all  that  evening  near  a  large  mir- 
ror, to  which  I  sat  opposite,  and  I  saw,  without  our 
eyes  meeting,  his  look  constantly  fixed  on  me.  He 
wore  an  eyeglass,  which  made  his  examination  of 
my  person  all  the  more  embarrassing  and  unbear- 
able. I  did  not  even  know  his  name,  but  he  annoyed 
me  exceedingly. 

De  Ronchaud,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  went 
and  whispered  something  to  Madame  d'Agoult, 
who  replied  out  loud: 

"  It  seems  most  unlike  that  usually  timid  man." 

Her  reply  made  me  feel  sure  that  these  words 
referred  to  the  man  leaning  against  the  mirror. 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  Proudhon's,"  de  Ronchaud 
said,  "  and  that  explains  his  curiosity." 

"  Very  well,  presently  I  will  speak  to  the  person 
about  it." 

I  understood  from  this  that  Proudhon's  friend 
wished  to  be  introduced  to  me. 

"  Who  is  that  tall  gentleman  near  the  mirror, 
Madame?  " 

"  Edmond  Adam.  We  are  very  intimate  friends, 
but  you  never  see  him  at  my  house  on  my  reception 
days  on  account  of  Girardin,  with  whom  he  wishes 
to  fight  a  duel,  for  the  slightest  thing  suffices  him 

[259] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


as  a  pretext  to  send  a  challenge.  After  Carrel's 
death,  when  he  was  chief  editor  of  a  journal  at 
Angers,  Armand  Marrost  placed  him  on  the  staff 
of  the  National.  His  friends  who  are  not  in  exile, 
Duclerc,  Grevy,  Carnot,  all  the  non-oath-takers, 
to  which  party  he  belongs  himself,  are  devoted  to 
him,  as  are  the  exiles,  Ledru-Rollin,  Schoelcher, 
and  Louis  Blanc,  etc. 

"  While  Councilor  of  State  he  refused  to  serve 
the  Empire  after  the  Second  of  December.  He  is, 
at  the  present  time,  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  Comp- 
toir  d'Escompte,  which  was  founded  by  his  Re- 
publican friends,  Bixio,  Pagnerre,  and  Garnier- 
Pages.  I  do  not  know  a  man  more  highly  esteemed, 
and  I  like  him  exceedingly.  He  is  as  capable  of 
true  friendship  as  Trihert  and  de  Ronchaud.  He 
is  devotedness  and  loyalty  personified.  One  action 
of  his  will  show  you  the  man.  After  his  heroic  con- 
duct in  June  with  Bixio,  who  was  thought  to  have 
been  killed  at  the  Barricades,  Armand  Marrost, 
who  was  at  that  time  President  of  the  National  As- 
sembly, proposed  to  the  House  to  give  Edmond 
Adam  the  Great  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour. 
The  vote  passed.  Edmond  Adam  refused  it,  say- 
ing he  could  never  accept  a  cross  won  in  a  civil  war, 
and  that  besides,  he  had  done  no  more  than  his 
duty.     Ronchaud  has  just  told  me  that  he  has 

[260] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

read  your  book  and  that  he  wishes  me  to  introduce 
him  to  you." 

"  Oh !  no,  no,  my  dear  friend,  I  beg  you  not  to 
do  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  like  him  at  all,"  and  I  slipped 
out  of  the  drawing-room. 

I  had  given  my  book,  Mon  Village,  some  weeks 
before  to  Hetzel. 

"  We  will  publish  it  as  soon  as  the  Christmas 
book  season  is  over,"  he  said.  "  Work  away  quick- 
ly at  something  else." 

I  began  my  Mandarin.  Madame  d'Agoult  left 
Paris.  What  a  void  her  absence  made !  I  seemed 
to  have  lost  my  guide  and  support,  and  when  she 
saw  my  grief  she  was  much  touched  by  it. 

"  A  few  months  will  soon  be  over,"  she  had  said, 
"  and  I  will  write  often  to  you." 

I  asked  her  permission  to  dedicate  Mon  Village 
to  her.  I  had  told  her  of  my  adventure  with  Hetzel 
concerning  it.  I  did  not,  however,  tell  her  that  I 
had  written  this  book  at  George  Sand's  advice.  She 
might  have  thought  it  disloyal,  and  that  was  why 
I  wished  this  volume  to  be  placed  under  her  patron- 
age. I  therefore  wrote  to  George  Sand  and  told 
her  the  feeling  that  prompted  me  to  do  it.     In  re- 

[261  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


ply  she  sent  me  a  most  motherly  letter,  saying  that 
'  the  first   duty   of   friendship   was   not   to  cause 
grief  to  those  we  believed  to  be  our  friends." 

In  the  latter  part  of  December  the  malevolent 
book,  Lui  et  Elle,  was  published — a  low  diatribe,  a 
tissue  of  accusations,  which  will  remain  the  shame 
of  the  man  who  wrote  it.  I  would  have  run  the  risk 
of  offending  Madame  d'Agoult  in  order  to  dedi- 
cate Mon  Village  to  George  Sand  if  this  book 
had  appeared  before  I  had  spoken  of  the  dedica- 
tion to  Madame  d'Agoult,  who  did  not  write  me 
a  single  word  about  Lui  et  Elle,  and  I  discovered, 
alas !  that  she  was  not  in  any  wise  indignant 
about  it. 

The  new  year  brought  with  it  some  bright,  new 
hopes  and  renewed  a  few  old  ones.  The  love  of 
liberty,  which  had  been  lying  dormant,  was  daily 
growing  stronger  among  the  higher  classes.  Those 
who  had  praised  the  Government  of  the  Second  of 
December,  the  return  to  order  and  security,  seemed 
to  be  less  satisfied  with  these  two  supposed  improve- 
ments, and  had  come  to  think  that  after  all  they 
were  not  quite  sure  of  them.  It  must  be  confessed 
that  the  anti-authority  party  was  progressing  in 
splendid  form.  In  each,  and  in  all,  of  the  opposi- 
tion parties  the  very   choicest  intellects   were  en- 

[262] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

listed  in  favour  of  liberal  ideas,  and  were  strongly 
opposed  to  personal  power. 

The  Courricr  du  Dimanche,  in  a  short  time,  pos- 
sessed the  whole  pleiad.  It  extended  from  Mon- 
sieur de  Montalembert  to  Prevost-Paradol,  from 
Eugene  Pelletan  to  the  Comte  d'Haussonville,  from 
Vilmatha  to  J.  J.  Weiss.  The  Imperialists  de- 
clared that  "  it  was  the  Orleanists  who  led  and  in- 
spired the  Opposition."  This  was  not  true;  the 
Orleanists  who  sided  with  the  Republicans  went  out 
of  their  way  to  defend  liberal  ideas. 

Monsieur  de  Girardin  was  not  pleased.  He  said, 
resuming  the  opinions  of  the  Palais  Royal  (the 
general  name  given  to  anything  touching  Prince 
Napoleon),  that  "  the  Emperor's  vacillating  game 
between  the  Ultramontanes  and  the  Italian  Revo- 
lutionists was  filling  his  path  with  the  greatest 
danger."  Some  persons  accused  him  of  making 
common  cause  with  Garibaldi,  others  of  betraying 
the  Italian  cause. 

Monsieur  Thiers,  through  Prevost-Paradol,  ex- 
plained the  true  state  of  liberal  opinion.  His  salon 
was  the  meeting-place  of  all  the  Opposition  party, 
of  all  colours.  "  A  friend  of  liberty  "  was  the  all- 
sufficient  password  at  the  Place  Saint-George. 

The  pamphlet,  Le  Pape  et  le  Congres,  supposed 
to  be  the  joint  work  of  the  Emperor  and  Monsieur 

[263] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


de  la  Guerronniere,  and  which  stated  that  France 
had  no  longer  any  right  to  interfere  in  Italian 
affairs,  occasioned  much  discussion.  About  the 
middle  of  January  a  letter  from  the  Minister  of 
State  appeared  in  the  Moniteur  ratifying  the 
pamphlet  and  affirming  that  France  must  busy 
herself  with  her  own  affairs,  and  stating  that  a 
great  economical  reform  was  about  to  be  made. 
Europe  was  also  informed  that  a  new  spirit  was  to 
rule  the  politics  of  Napoleon  III.  High-sounding 
words,  such  as  commerce,  agriculture,  and  manu- 
facture, appeared  anew  in  all  the  official  speeches. 
We  were  far  enough  away  from  last  year's  allocu- 
tion to  the  Austrian  Ambassador.  England, 
calmed  and  appeased,  came  forward  with  a  treaty 
of  commerce  in  her  hand. 

"  Well !  was  it  possible  we  were  going  to  abandon 
the  Pope  to  the  intrigues  of  the  House  of  Savoy  ?  " 

The  great  manufacturing  houses,  opposed  to  the 
Treaty  of  Commerce  with  perfidious  Albion,  joined 
hands  with  the  Clerical  party  and  protested  loudly 
against  "  the  Imperial  changes  of  mind." 

Monsieur  Cousin  declared  in  resounding  tones, 
"  All  right-minded  persons  are  for  the  Pope." 
Others  among  the  Conservatives  added :  "  The  Em- 
peror is  distracted  and  is  seeking  a  popularity 
which  will  be  his  end."      The  ministers   and   the 

[264] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 


bishops  were  at  daggers  drawn.  On  the  first  of 
January,  Pius  IX  had  stigmatized  the  pamphlet 
Le  Pape  ct  le  Congres  by  these  words :  "  It  is  an 
evident  motion  of  hypocrisy  and  an  ignoble  tissue 
of  contradictions." 

We  Republicans  were  overjoyed.  We  were  fast 
becoming  anti-Clerical,  without  in  any  wise  grow- 
ing less  anti-Imperialist.  The  days  when  the  Re- 
publicans of  1848  called  for  blessings  on  the 
"  Trees  of  Liberty,"  and  recognised  Jesus  and  the 
Gospel  as  the  inspiration  of  their  formula,  "  Liber- 
ty, Equality,  Fraternity,"  were  growing  more  and 
more  remote.  We  begged  loudly  for  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  Society  of  Saint-Vincent  de  Paul,  which 
we  felt  certain  was  eminently  dangerous  for 
France. 

Littre's  Positivism,  to  a  greater  degree  even  than 
that  of  Auguste  Comte's,  had  severed  freemasons 
from  the  Great  Architect  of  the  World.  The  Em- 
pire introduced  Clerical  agitation  into  the  lodges, 
and  extracted  from  the  depths  of  men's  souls  the 
suspicions  against  the  priesthood  which  the  Wan- 
dering Jew  had  by  degrees  instilled  into  them. 
The  Siecle,  winch  had  a  circulation  of  thirty  thou- 
sand copies,  a  considerable  number  in  those  days, 
was,  through  its  editor,  Monsieur  Havin,  secretly 
given  over  to  Monsieur  de  Morny,  and  cultivated 

[265] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


in  its  readers,  who  were,  for  the  most  part,  waifs 
of  the  provincial  Republican  party  of  1848,  old 
Voltairian  ideas.  Flaubert,  at  that  time,  spoke  of 
Voltaire  as  "  a  saint,  a  tender  soul."  Peyrat,  long 
before  Gambetta,  declared  that  "  Clericalism  is  our 
enemy !  " 

Gueroult,  prompted  by  Prince  Napoleon,  led  a 
noisy  and  active  campaign  against  the  priests 
in  his  paper,  L'Opinion  Nationale,  which  had 
been  started,  people  thought,  for  that  very 
purpose. 

Monsieur  de  Moray,  Prince  Napoleon,  the  free- 
masons, the  Positivists,  the  Voltairian  bourgeois, 
and  the  Republicans  of  all  shades  were  accomplish- 
ing in  France  the  same  task  that  Cavour's  clever- 
ness, Mazzini's  ardent  propaganda,  and  Garibaldi 
were  doing  for  Italy.  The  Courrier  du  Dimanche 
was  the  only  paper  that  protested  against  the  anti- 
religious  madness  in  prophetic  words. 

In  the  immediate  circle  around  Napoleon  III, 
alarm  seized  his  intimate  and  devoted  friends,  for, 
on  the  one  side,  he  was  involuntarily  involved  in 
the  attacks  against  the  priesthood,  while  on  the 
other  hand,  the  epithets  of  "  Nero  and  persecutor 
of  the  Church  "  were  hurled  at  him  from  the  pulpit 
by  the  priests. 

Two  years  later  Merimee  described,  one  day  be- 

[266] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

fore  me,  the  surprise  felt  by  the  Emperor  at  being 
thus  exposed  to  attacks  coming  from  such  opposite 
directions,  and  how  the  Empress,  who  told  the  cir- 
cumstances to  Merimee  herself,  had  copied  out  a 
paragraph  from  one  of  Montalembert's  articles  to 
read  it  to  Napoleon  III,  who  was  much  struck  by 
it :  "A  Government  may  commit  any  number  of 
crimes  without  being  overthrown,  but  if  it  joins 
hands  with  those  who  attack  the  belief  of  its  nation, 
it  undermines  its  own  foundation.  Any  Govern- 
ment, whatsoever  it  may  be,  can  only  rule  on  earth 
by  clinging  to  the  clouds  over  which  God  rules  in 
Heaven." 

Arles-Dufour,  who  was  still  in  town,  invited 
Madame  Charles  Reybaud,  Doctor  Ivan,  Louis 
Jourdan,  Lambert-Bey,  Girardin,  and  myself  to 
dine  with  him  at  a  restaurant. 

Arles-Dufour  had  had  much  to  do  with  the  ne- 
gotiations of  the  Treaty  of  Commerce.  The  Em- 
peror had  sent  for  him  almost  every  day.  He  was 
as  great  an  advocate  for  the  Treaty  of  Commerce 
for  France  as  were  his  friends,  Cobden  and  John 
Bright,  for  England.  All  three  held  the  opinion 
that  "  it  assured  half  a  century  of  prosperity  to 
the  two  countries." 

During  the  dinner  Arles-Dufour  told  us  of  some 
conversation  he  had  had  with  the  Emperor.  Napo- 
18  [  267  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


leon  III  held  him  in  high  esteem  because  he  was 
sincere  and  disinterested,  and  because  such  men 
were  growing  fewer  around  him  every  day.  The 
Emperor  having  asked  him  some  few  questions, 
Arles-Duf  our  had  begun  to  talk  of  Saint-Simonism 
and  of  the  dreams  the  school  cherished,  and  which 
he  still  retained  inviolate  in  his  innermost  thoughts, 
believing  that  some  day  they  would  be  realized, 
when  suddenly  Napoleon  III  said  to  him: 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  people  may  be,  after 
all,  somewhat  right  when  they  call  you  daft  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire,  I  am  daft,"  answered  Arles-Duf  our ; 
"  but  your  Ma j  esty  knows  very  well  that  it  is  only 
daft  persons  who  succeed." 

The  Emperor  burst  out  laughing,  and  rose,  say- 
ing: 

"  Leave  the  room,  impertinent  fellow,  and  don't 
come  back  until  to-morrow  at  two  o'clock." 

This  story  amused  Arles-Duf  our  immensely,  who 
said  he  was  happy  to  tell  it  to  us  fresh  from  the 
Tuileries. 

Madame  Charles  Reybaud,  who  was  a  Proven- 
cale,  was  conversing  with  Arles-Dufour  about 
Provence.  She  loved  it,  as  did  Louis  Jourdan,  also 
a  Provencale.  They  spoke  of  Marseilles,  and  this 
led  them  to  a  discussion  on  the  Canal  of  Suez, 
where   work   had   already   been   begun.      A   storm 

[268] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

of  argument  then  burst  forth.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  de  Girardin  and  myself  all  were  Saint- 
Simonians,  and  what  made  matters  worse  was  that 
Monsieur  de  Girardin  gloried  in  being  Monsieur 
de  Lesseps's  most  intimate  friend. 

"  It  is  abominable  of  de  Lesseps,"  Lambert-Bey 
said,  "  to  have  turned  to  his  own  advantage  the 
Saint-Simonians'  work.  I  took  part  in  the  mission, 
and  I  know  how  Enfantin  and  our  engineers  toiled 
together.  Everything  in  the  de  Lesseps  scheme 
was  our  property,  and  in  taking  it  from  us  he  has 
done  a  wicked  deed  which  will  bring  him  misfor^ 
tune." 

Girardin  had  the  reputation  of  being  most 
courageous  in  defending  his  friends. 

"  The  Saint-Simonians,"  he  said,  "  like  many 
others  before  them,  did  certainly  study  plans  for  a 
canal  at  Suez,  and  made  surveys,  but  de  Lesseps 
is  the  only  man  who  was  able  to  realize  their  dream, 
and  I  will  tell  you  the  true  version  of  it,  for  you  are 
all  just  men,  Madame  Reybaud  and  Madame  La- 
messine  included,  and  you  ought  to  know  the 
truth. 

"  No  one  can  deny  that  it  was  de  Lesseps's  father 
who  discovered  Mehemet-Ali.  He  was  then  consul 
in  Egypt,  when  Monsieur  de  Talleyrand  begged 
of  him  to  select  out  of  the  Egyptian  army  a  man 

[269] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


sufficiently  energetic  to  put  a  stop  to  all  the  trouble 
in  the  Delta.  Monsieur  de  Lesseps  immediately 
selected  Mehemet-Ali. 

"  When  Mehemet-Ali,  then  at  the  zenith  of 
power,  heard  of  the  arrival  in  Egypt  of  his  pro- 
tector's son  he  welcomed  him  with  open  arms,  and 
was  pleased  at  the  growing  friendship  between 
Ferdinand  de  Lesseps  and  his  own  son  Said.  After 
his  father's  death,  when  Said  came  into  power,  he 
determined  to  make  a  journey  into  the  Libyan 
Desert,  followed  by  his  army.  He  hastened  to  in- 
vite his  friend  de  Lesseps  to  accompany  him,  and 
it  was  during  the  intimacy  of  this  journey  that 
Ferdinand  spoke,  for  the  first  time,  to  Said  of  his 
plan  of  opening  the  Isthmus  of  Suez. 

"  Said  was  carried  away  by  the  idea,  and,  on  his 
return,  he  communicated  officially  to  the  foreign 
consuls  his  intention  of  making  the  Canal  of  Suez, 
and  of  intrusting  the  execution  of  it  solely  to  his 
friend  de  Lesseps.  Then  began  the  struggle  with 
England. 

"  You,  Aries,  are  well  aware  of  all  the  obstacles 
placed  in  the  way,  and  of  all  the  ill-will  shown  by 
Palmerston  to  every  French  undertaking.  Cobden 
and  Michel  Chevalier  have  suffered  enough  from 
them.  The  campaign  made  by  Palmerston  against 
Suez  should  make  you  all  uphold  de  Lesseps  instead 

[270] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

of  attacking  him.  You  know,  my  dear  fellow,  that 
Palmerston  has  repeatedly  said  that  '  the  canal 
shall  not  be  made  as  long  as  he  lives,  and  that  it  is 
a  theft.'  When  de  Lesseps  is  next  in  Paris,  Aries, 
I  will  take  you  to  see  him,  and  you  are  too  good  a 
Frenchman  not  to  say  to  him,  '  Succeed,  and  you 
will  deserve  the  thanks  of  the  Saint-Simonian 
School  and  of  France.'  In  three  months'  time%the 
Suez  Canal  Company  will  be  formed,  and  you  will 
rejoice,  I  am  sure." 

You  could  turn  Aries  round  your  finger  with 
such  words  as  these.  "  He  will  go  to  see  de  Lesseps, 
I  am  sure,"  I  said  to  myself ;  only  the  Saint-Simo- 
nian bankers  will  never  forgive  him. 

"  I  can  understand,"  continued  de  Girardin, 
"  how  the  Saint-Simonians,  who  knew  so  well  how  to 
undertake  great  enterprises,  must  regret  not  being 
able  to  count  this  among  their  number ;  but,  believe 
me,  de  Lesseps  is  the  only  man  who  could  have  bat- 
tled, and  who  will  continue  to  battle,  against  Eng- 
land." 

"  No  man  can  gather  such  hatred  around  him 
with  impunity,"  answered  Lambert-Bey,  "  and  we 
must  wait  to  see  how  it  will  turn  out.  If  the  canal 
should  fail,  France  will  bear  the  brunt ;  if  it  should 
succeed,  the  English  will  buy  it,  as  they  buy  up 
everything  worth  having." 

[271  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Nonsense !  "  said  de  Girardin  and  Arles-Du- 
four  in  the  same  breath. 

"  You,  Aries,  believe  in  Cobden,"  said  Jourdan. 
"  True,  he  is  less  English  than  most  of  them,  but 
do  you  really  think  that  Gladstone  and  Palmerston 
would  allow  him  to  negotiate  his  Treaty  of  Com- 
merce if  they  did  not  feel  that  it  was  in  some  degree 
unfavourable  to  France?  I  repeat  what  you  have 
just  said,  '  Nonsense ! '  " 

A  few  days  after  our  dinner  the  Treaty  of  Com- 
merce with  England  was  signed.  It  had  still  to 
pass  through  the  Chambers,  but  neither  Arles- 
Dufour  nor  Michel  Chevalier  ever  doubted  the  re- 
sult. 

Mon  Village  was  now  published.  Both  Hetzel 
and  Michel  Levy  were  most  gracious  towards  this 
little  book.  Juliette  Lamber  made  her  entrance 
into  the  literary  world. 

"  The  trick  has  been  well  played,"  said  my  hus- 
band to  me.  "  But  I  shall  find  means  to  pay  you 
back." 

I  received  from  Littre  "  a  'patent  of  nobility" 
the  title  he  put  at  the  head  of  the  precious  letter 
he  wrote  to  me.  My  book  interested  him,  because 
I  made  my  peasants  speak  as  they  really  do  speak, 
and  yet  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  understood  by  a 

[272] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

Parisian  reader.  In  Mon  Village  I  developed  for 
the  first  time  an  idea  which  no  one  had  held  up  to 
that  moment,  namely,  workmen's  trains,  which 
were  to  bring,  at  reduced  prices,  Belgian  harvesters 
who  come  every  year  into  France.  The  press  warm- 
ly took  up  the  idea. 

Littre  found  in  Mon  Village  a  number  of  old 
French  words,  and,  in  questioning  me  about  cer- 
tain Picardy  patois  words,  told  me  that  his 
great  desire  was  to  make  a  grand  French  dic- 
tionary. 

Among  the  numerous  letters  I  received  about 
Mon  Village  was  a  most  flattering  one  from  Ed- 
mond  Adam.  I  answered  him  rather  coldly,  but 
my  reply,  far  from  discouraging  him,  seemed 
to  prompt  him  to  write  again  under  various 
pretexts,  and,  moreover,  to  come  one  night  and  talk 
to  me  when  I  was  at  the  theatre  with  Madame 
Fauvety,  whom,  it  is  true,  he  knew.  He  even  asked 
at  what  hour  he  could  come  to  see  me.  I  did  not 
answer  him. 

"  Adam  is  one  of  the  Republicans  whom  Fauvety 
and  myself  esteem  the  most,"  said  Madame 
Fauvety.  "  If  you  speak  to  Renouvier  about  him, 
he  will  tell  you  that  since  Cavaignac's  death,  and 
apart  from  the  great  exiles,  Hippolyte  Carnot, 
Jean  Reynaud,  and  Edmond  Adam  are  the  men 

[273] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


whom  he  esteems  in  the  highest  manner,  and  whom 
he  calls  '  the  moral  trio.'  " 

Although  Edmond  Adam  still  continued  to  be 
unsympathetic  to  me,  and  to  annoy  me  by  his  per- 
sistence, I  could  not,  however,  really  feel  hurt  at 
the  flattering  sympathy  shown  me  by  a  man  whose 
character  ranked  so  highly.  Whenever  I  went 
home  to  my  father,  he  was  always  curious  to  hear 
about  the  new  people  I  had  met.  I  spoke  to  him 
of  Edmond  Adam. 

"  He  is  as  good  as  gold,"  said  my  father.  "  Do 
you  know  that  he  led  the  assault  of  the  Saint- 
Antoine  barricade  without  arms  of  any  kind,  and 
that  he  refused  the  great  cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour,  which  the  Assembly  had  voted  for  him, 
saying " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  that,  papa,  and  much 
more  besides ;  but  will  you  believe  it,  he  does  not 
please  me  at  all." 

"  Well,  the  next  time  you  see  him,  you  may  tell 
him  from  me  that  your  father  would  be  most  happy, 
should  the  opportunity  occur,  to  shake  hands  with 
him,  for  he  is  one  of  the  rare  few  of  whom  an  old 
Republican  may  be  proud." 

Madame  d'Agoult  wrote  me  short  letters  from 
Nice,  full  of  the  delight  she  felt  in  basking  in  the 
sunshine,  in  being  surrounded  with  light  and  blue 

[274] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 


skies,  and  in  living  in  the  midst  of  flowers.  She 
promised  to  write  me  a  long  letter  and  to  tell  me 
about  an  extraordinary  poetess  she  had  discovered. 

Wagner,  at  the  suggestion  of  Hans  von  Biilow 
and  of  Madame  de  Charnace,  whose  indifference 
towards  him  was  only  assumed,  and  who  really  ad- 
mired him,  as  did  Monsieur  Charnace,  who  was  a 
great  favourite  in  influential  fashionable  society 
and  in  literary  and  artistic  circles — Wagner,  I  re- 
peat, was  about  to  give  three  concerts,  and  had 
hired  the  Italian  Opera-House  for  the  purpose.  He 
was  warmly  supported  by  all  the  Germans  living 
in  Paris  and  by  some  of  his  fervent  admirers,  such 
as  the  Vilborts.  Although  he  was  in  no  wise  sym- 
pathetic to  me,  still,  considering  the  circle  of  friends 
in  which  I  lived,  I  would  have  thought  myself  dis- 
loyal to  them  had  I  not  tried  to  sell  as  many  tickets 
as  I  possibly  could  for  the  Wagner  concerts. 
Michel  Levy  helped  me  somewhat  in  so  doing.  Ed- 
mond  Adam  wrote  to  ask  for  twenty  tickets,  and 
when  he  appeared  forty-eight  hours  later  to  pay 
his  debt,  I  was  obliged  to  receive  him. 

"  So  soon  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  I  confess,  Madame,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  have 
been  at  some  pains,  for  if  I  had  not  jokingly  told 
my  friends  that  we  ought  to  know  '  the  music  of 

[275] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


the  future,'  I  do  not  think  I  could  have  sold  a  single 
ticket." 

During  all  the  time  of  Edmond  Adam's  visit  I 
felt  in  dread  of  his  making  some  too  tender  speech 
to  me,  but  he  did  not.  All  that  he  did  say  was  to 
ask  me  the  number  of  my  seat  at  these  concerts. 
How  could  I  help  telling  it? 

I  sold  such  a  number  of  tickets  that  Wagner  sent 
de  Ronchaud  to  present  me  "  the  Hydrocephalic's 
profuse  thanks." 

In  spite  of  what  has  been  since  said,  these  con- 
certs attracted  a  number  of  persons,  especially  the 
first  two.  Curiosity  and  interest  made  them  really 
successful. 

Wagner  was  too  infatuated  with  himself  for  our 
Parisian  taste.  He  displeased  a  great  number  of 
persons  by  his  exaggeratedly  solemn  manner  in 
leading  the  orchestra;  but  certain  parts  of  Rienzi, 
Lohengrin,  Tristan  et  Yseult,  and  the  Vaisseau 
Phantom  were,  however,  much  liked  and  applauded. 
Many  of  his  hearers  suffered,  as  I  did,  from  the 
superabundance  of  brass  instruments.  The  ma- 
jority of  them  expressed  their  opinion  freely.  I 
acknowledged  mine  only  outside  of  Madame  de 
Charnace's  and  Madame  Vilbort's  circles.  Fioren- 
tino  and  Theophile  Gautier  criticised  Wagner's 
talents  somewhat  harshly.      In  his  article  of  the 

[276] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

9th  of  February,  Berlioz  was  very  severe  on  "  the 
music  of  the  future."  Being  entirely  devoted  to 
the  "  music  of  the  past,"  he  confessed  he  preferred 
Alceste  to  the  Vaisseau  Phantom. 

Nothing  irritated  Wagner  more  than  to  have 
the  term  "  music  of  the  future  "  applied  to  his 
works.  "  If  you  place  a  man  in  a  category  in  that 
way,"  he  said,  "  you  condemn  him  to  be  summarily 
judged  by  the  ignorant.  And  to  think  it  is  Ber- 
lioz, a  musical  genius,  who  tries  to  throw  me  in  the 
background  in  France  with  their  ridiculous  words." 

Fiorentino  called  Wagner  "  a  murderer  of  mel- 
ody," and  yet  selections  from  Lohengrin  were  the 
music  that  had  been  most  played. 

I  was  seated  between  Challemel-Lacour  and  Ma- 
dame Vilbort ;  Edmond  Adam's  chair  came  next  to 
that  of  his  friend  Challemel.  Challemel-Lacour 
and  Wagner  having  met  in  Zurich,  had  become 
intimate  friends  from  that  time,  and  saw  much  of 
each  other  in  Paris.  At  the  second  concert  Challe- 
mel, at  a  certain  moment,  pointed  out  to  me  Ber- 
lioz, who  was  applauding. 

"  He  is  carried  away  in  spite  of  himself,"  he 
said.  "  I  can  understand  his  being  annoyed  by 
Wagner's  partisans,  who  are  wrong  in  believing  it 
necessary  to  depreciate  what  is  old  in  order  to  ad- 
mire what  is  new,  and  thus  to  make  a  system  out 

[277] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


of  an  evolution,  for  people  then  imagine  they  are 
placed  face  to  face  in  a  lawsuit  and  must  take 
sides  for  or  against  it." 

"  True  musicians  take  sides  now  with  Wagner 
and  against  all  other  present  or  future  composers," 
Madame  Vilbort  replied. 

"  See !  That  is  how  they  all  talk,"  answered 
Challemel,  laughing. 

While  in  Zurich  Challemel  had  translated  Tris- 
tan et  Yseult,  and  his  friend  Herwegh  said  wittily : 

"  Contrary  to  all  other  translators  who  are 
treacherous,  Challemel-Lacour  will  be  a  benefactor, 
no  matter  at  what  cost,  for  he  will  unravel  the  ob- 
scurities of  Tristan,  and  we  shall  finally  know  what 
Wagner  really  meant  to  say." 

Hans  von  Bulow  could  not  forgive  Berlioz  for 
his  severity  towards  Wagner,  the  more  especially 
because  Liszt  was  about  to  bring  out  in  Weimar 
L'Enfance  du  Christ  and  La  Damnation  de  Faust. 
I  do  not  know  if  it  is  true,  but  it  was  said  that 
Biilow  endeavoured  to  prevent  the  representation 
from  taking  place.  But  no  one  had  power  to  influ- 
ence either  Liszt  or  the  Princess  Caroline  Sayn- 
Wittgenstein  where  Berlioz  was  concerned. 

When  his  Damnation  de  Faust  was  played  with 
great  success  at  Weimar,  Berlioz  was  deeply 
touched  by  the  pleasure  shown  by  his  friends,  and 

[278] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 


I  remember  Charles  Edmond  telling  us  of  Gounod's 
real  "  happiness  "  at  the  news  of  this  success. 

"  At  last,"  said  Gounod,  "  our  master  is  appre- 
ciated by  every  one.  He  will  talk  no  longer  now, 
like  a  martyr,  of  the  horrible  *  execution  '  of  his 
Damnation  de  Faust  at  the  Opera-Comique." 
Gounod's  Philemon  et  Baucis  had  just  been  given 
and  had  been  well  received  by  the  public,  which 
thus  tried  to  make  him  forget  the  little  success  of 
the  first  representations  of  Faust. 

Discussed,  upheld,  and  torn  to  pieces  in  turn, 
Wagner  had  nevertheless  taken  his  place  in  Paris, 
and,  as  it  was  in  a  Republican  and  liberal  circle, 
and  in  the  literary  and  artistic  world,  all  of  which 
were  anti-Imperialist,  they  were  ready  to  welcome 
the  coming  works  of  "  the  musician  of  the  future," 
on  condition  that  they  should  contain  more  melody 
and  less  noise. 

Challemel-Lacour  had  heard  from  de  Ronchaud 
of  Edmond  Adam's  love  for  me,  and  would  often 
tease  me  and  ask  if  I  had  lost  my  heart  whenever 
he  met  me.  I  could  only  make  him  cease  his  jest- 
ing by  saying  to  him :  "  Challemel,  you  are  kind 
and  yet  you  hurt  me.  My  sorrows  can  only  be  con- 
soled by  the  utmost  respect  of  my  friends." 

Nice  and  Savoy  were  ceded  to  France  by  Victor 

[279] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Emmanuel.  Charles  Renouvier  was  dining  at  Ma- 
dame Fauvety's  one  night  when  I  dined  there  also 
before  going  with  her  to  the  Theatre  Francais  to 
see  Mademoiselle  Plessis  as  Dona  Clorinde  in 
L'Aventuriere  and  he  read  us  a  letter  from  Jean 
Reynaud,  who,  for  several  years  past,  had  spent 
his  winters  at  Cannes.  Although  an  enemy  of  the 
Empire  and  as  stanch  in  his  opinions  as  one  could 
be,  Reynaud  wrote  that  "  France,  by  the  acquisi- 
tion of  the  county  of  Nice,  had  added  a  superb 
jewel  to  her  crown."  The  only  thing  that  dis- 
turbed Reynaud  was  the  question  of  our  new  fron- 
tier. He  feared  that  Victor  Emmanuel,  in  order 
to  preserve  his  coverts  for  hunting  chamois,  would 
keep  his  forests  for  himself  as  far  as  Saspel,  and 
added  that  it  would  be  "  a  great  danger  if  the 
Col  de  Tende  which  commands  that  part  of  France 
should  remain  Piedmontese."  Jean  Reynaud  also 
wrote  that  Renouvier  should  speak  about  it  to  Car- 
not,  and  make  a  campaign  in  the  press  in  favour 
of  a  better  outlined  frontier. 

"  We  cannot  be  contented  with  a  small  stream," 
Jean  Reynaud  added,  "  which  would  be  folly,  be- 
cause Piedmont  nourishes  ardent  ambitions,  which, 
according  to  Monsieur  Thiers's  prophetic  opinion, 
may  one  day  make  us  her  enemy." 

We  strained  every  effort  in  vain.     A  year  later 

[  280  ] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

the  Piedmontcse  frontier  extended  as  far  as  Sos- 
pel. 

A  few  days  after  we  had  been  to  see  L'Aventu- 
riere,  Madame  Fauvety  and  I  returned  to  the 
Theatre  Francais  to  hear  Madame  Ristori  play 
Phedre  in  Italian  and  recite  some  poetry  by 
Legouve  with  an  accent  which  made  us  under- 
stand her  refusal  to  play  the  role  in  our  tongue. 
Madame  Fauvety,  whose  greatest  success  had  been 
in  Phedre,  taught  me  to  admire  comprehensively 
the  great  tragedian's  passionate  and  individual 
rendering  of  the  part  and  her  perfect  understand- 
ing of  Phedre's  character. 

Edouard  Grenier  came  to  see  me  and  told  me 
the  news  of  Garibaldi's  invasion  into  Sicily,  which 
had  been  confided  to  him  by  Bixio,  who  had  author- 
ized him  to  tell  me  of  it  as  a  secret,  my  pamphlet 
on  Garibaldi  having  placed  me,  in  his  mind,  among 
his  faithful  friends.  Now,  Nino  Bixio,  Alexan- 
dre's brother,  whom  I  came  to  know  later,  told  me 

* 

one  day  the  whole  adventure. 

"  At  Genoa,  at  the  time  of  the  expedition  of  the 
Mille,  I  was  commissioned  by  Garibaldi,"  he  said, 
"  to  select  a  ship  that  was  to  transport  the  arms. 
I  negotiated  with  the  manager  of  a  company,  who 
authorized  me  to  take  one  of  his  vessels.  I  selected 
the  Milanais.    I  went  myself  with  forty  men,  about 

[  281  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


eleven  o'clock  at  night,  to  take  possession  of  the 
vessel,  and  thought  it  more  prudent  to  keep  the 
sailors  prisoners.  But  in  order  to  get  out  of  the 
port  of  Genoa  we  were  obliged  to  raise  steam  and 
to  put  the  pumps  in  motion  to  fill  the  boiler.  This 
made  some  noise,  and  as  the  vessel  was  not  regis- 
tered to  sail,  the  noise  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  police,  who  boarded  us.  There  was  great  ex- 
citement among  the  Garibaldians.  Informed  that 
the  police  had  come,  I  went  up  to  them,  determined 
to  brazen  it  out. 

"  '  If  you  do  not  let  me  leave,'  I  said,  '  I  have 
forty  men  on  board  and  I  will  have  you  thrown  into 
the  hold.' 

"  I  had  not,  however,"  said  Nino,  interrupting 
his  story,  "  any  idea  of  shedding  blood,"  and  he 
continued :  "  The  police  said  they  would  leave  the 
ship,  but  would  return  with  a  larger  force. 

"  We  hastened  our  departure.  The  arms  and 
ammunition  had  been  confided  to  some  smugglers, 
men  on  whom  we  could  rely,  who  were  to  keep  them 
safe  in  a  gorge  not  far  from  the  sea.  Just  then 
a  smuggler  arrived  very  frightened,  saying  they 
had  been  surprised  and  that  all  the  stores  had  been 
seized. 

"  At  this  news  my  men  grew  nervous,  hesitated, 
and  wished  to  be  put  ashore. 

[  282  ] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

"  I  suddenly  remembered,"  Nino  continued, 
"  that  some  little  forts  on  the  route  had  lately 
been  stocked  with  arms.  I  told  my  volunteers  about 
it  and  proposed  to  plunder  one.  They  yielded  to 
my  persuasion  and  I  hurried  them  off.  I  found 
the  ammunition  and  the  arms  in  a  little  fort  guard- 
ed by  a  small  detachment.  I  took  possession  of 
them." 

"  Without  much  fear  of  being  blamed  by  Mon- 
sieur de  Cavour,"  I  added,  laughing. 

"  And  feeling  very  happy,"  continued  Nino, 
without  answering  me,  "  we  set  sail  again. 

"  The  route  traced  for  us  by  Garibaldi  was  a 
marvellous  one,  for  it  kept  us  between  the  line  fol- 
lowed by  large  navigating  vessels  and  by  that  taken 
by  small  brigs.  We  could  not,  therefore,  be  dis- 
covered. Garibaldi,"  added  Nino,  "  proved  him- 
self in  this  the  greatest  admiral  of  modern  times. 

"  But  something  else  still  more  terrible  and  en- 
tirely unforeseen  happened.  Garibaldi  had  ordered 
me  not  to  make  use  of  ordinary  signals  and  to 
show  no  lights. 

"  The  Milanais  was  steaming  two  miles  behind 
the  vessel  commanded  by  Garibaldi,  who  had  set 
sail  from  a  different  port  from  ourselves. 

"  Garibaldi  had  gone  to  sleep  and  had  forgotten 
to  give  orders  that  there  should  be  no  lights,  or 
19  [  283  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


bells  rung.  The  man  who  had  assumed  the  place 
of  captain  during  Garibaldi's  slumber  had  the 
lights  lit  and  the  bells  rung.   .   .   . 

"  We  suddenly  found  ourselves  near  to  another 
vessel  sailing  in  our  line,  and  which,  of  course,  we 
took  for  an  enemy's  ship.  I  instantly  determined 
to  board  it.  I  harangued  my  mates,  stimulated 
their  courage,  made  them  believe  we  were  pursued, 
and  prepared  them  for  a  fight.  During  this  time 
the  captain  of  Garibaldi's  vessel  perceived  that  a 
ship  without  lights  or  bells  was  sailing  in  his  wake, 
and  believing  himself  followed,  decided  to  wake  the 
General. 

"  Garibaldi,  much  disturbed,  went  up  hurriedly 
on  the  bridge  and  called  out  through  the  speaking- 
trumpet:  'Is  it  you,  Nino?'  I  couldn't  reply. 
I  was  so  overcome  at  the  thought  that  I  might,  in 
my  haste  and  quick  temper,  have  made  everything 
fail,  perhaps  even  have  killed  Garibaldi  and  sunk 
his  ship. 

"  During  the  passage  I  lost  Garibaldi  twice  be- 
fore reaching  Sicily. 

"  One  day,  as  I  was  eating  my  soup  on  deck, 
and  thought  that  my  volunteers  had  some  also,  one 
of  them  passing  said  to  me: 

"  '  You  are  eating  soup,  and  we  have  nothing 
but  bread.' 

[284] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

"  Carried  away  by  my  temper,  which  I  never 
knew  how  to  master,  I  threw  my  plate  at  his  head 
and  wounded  him.  This  caused  much  indignation ; 
and  a  revolt  broke  out  on  board.  The  sea  was 
stormy.  We  had  lost  Garibaldi  for  the  second 
time.  They  made  me  prisoner  and  wished  to 
kill  me. 

"  *  Wait,'  I  said  '  I  am  the  only  sailor  on  board 
and  you  have  need  of  me.  I  swore  I  would  set  you 
ashore  at  a  certain  point,  and  I  will  do  it.  You 
can't  do  without  me.  When  we  reach  land  you 
will  find  enough  trees  where  you  can  hang  me,  if 
you  wish  to  do  so.'     The  revolt  calmed  down." 

At  Marsala,  in  order  to  put  the  men  he  had 
picked  up  on  his  passage  more  quickly  ashore, 
Nino  Bixio  stranded  the  Milanais,  for  it  would 
have  taken  him  forty-eight  hours  to  land  them  by 
a  boat. 

One  day  during  the  expedition  he  attacked  a 
post  with  his  volunteers.  Garibaldi  had  sent  him 
word :  "  You  must  carry  that  position  or  the  day 
will  be  lost." 

Nino's  horse  was  wounded  and  vomited  blood 
through  his  nostrils.  It  was  impossible  to  find  an- 
other horse.  Nino  was  short  in  stature;  his  voice 
was  tired  out;  he  could  never  have  made  himself 
heard  on  foot.    The  volunteers,  seeing  him  hesitate, 

[285  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


hesitated  also.  Nino  set  his  horse  on  a  furious  gal- 
lop. It  did  not  fall.  The  volunteers  followed  him 
and  the  position  was  carried. 

Another  day  Nino  was  wounded  in  his  breast. 
He  searched  for  the  ball  with  his  fingers,  and,  find- 
ing it,  threw  it  away,  saying  to  his  men :  "  You 
see,  those  things  are  not  dangerous." 

On  another  occasion,  during  a  panic,  his  gun- 
ners took  flight,  abandoning  their  cannon,  because 
the  Swiss  sharpshooters  picked  them  off  one  by  one. 
Nino  sat  down  on  a  cannon  for  a  few  minutes  and 
his  gunners  returned  to  their  posts. 

He  never  doubted  the  success  of  the  expedition. 
Whenever  it  was  reported  to  Garibaldi,  there  is 
this  obstacle  or  that  peril,  Nino  would  always  add : 

"  We  will  overcome  it,  General." 

Nino  Bixio  said  to  me :  "  Garibaldi  is  a  grand 
sailor,  a  great  general.  He  knows  all  about  war 
and  its  tactics,  and  he  knows  all  about  the  sea. 
He  never  yields  to  any  influence,  which  is  a  great 
arm  for  a  leader.  He  lives  alone  with  his  own 
thoughts,  is  always  gentle  and  calm,  and  never," 
continued  Bixio,  "  at  any  moment  does  he  lose  his 
temper.  He  orders  an  officer  to  be  degraded  in  the 
same  tone  as  though  he  were  saying,  '  Make  up 
that  account.'  Garibaldi  has  a  sort  of  supernatural 
influence  over  people.     I  have  experienced  it,  and 

f286] 


WAGNER,  BERLIOZ  AND  EDMOND  ADAM 

what  I  feel  for  him  is  not  admiration,  I  absolutely 
worship  him.  You  cannot  think  what  gentleness, 
what  patience  is  required  to  deal  with  men  such  as 
I  am,  who  are  passionate  and  violent — to  com- 
mand volunteers,  men  always  ready  to  fight,  but 
who  think  they  can  leave  you  at  any  minute,  and 
who  refuse  to  mount  guard  and  expose  you  to 
danger. 

"  People  think  me  barbarous,  cruel  sometimes," 
continued  Nino  Bixio ;  "  but  I  am  not  bloodthirsty 
by  nature,  though  I  often  went  nearly  mad  en- 
deavouring to  prevent  my  men  from  deserting, 
nd    in   trying   to    furnish   them    with   arms    and 


a 


clothes  and  food." 

During  the  fighting  at  Palermo,  Nino  Bixio's 
bravery  was  so  prodigious  that  Garibaldi  made  him 
ma  j  or- general. 

One  day,  when  I  was  talking  of  Nino's  courage 
to  his  brother,  Alexandre  Bixio,  he  said  to  me 
calmly : 

"  I  brought  him  up  to  have  no  fear.  When  he 
was  a  little  child  I  would  hold  him  over  our  bal- 
cony suspended  by  one  leg  above  a  street  in  Genoa." 


[287] 


CHAPTER    XIII 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


BUFFERING  from  a  cold  I  could  not  throw 
off,  and  from  an  irritation  of  the  throat 
which  made  articulation  painful,  at  the  urgent  ad- 
vice of  de  Ronchaud  I  consulted  Doctor  Cabarrus, 
a  friend  of  Madame  d'Agoult,  of  Girardin,  brother- 
in-law  of  Madame  de  Lesseps  and  son  of  Madame 
Tallien.  I  already  knew  him,  having  met  him  at 
different  places,  and  he  was  so  sympathetic  and 
kind  to  me  that  I  never  hesitated  at  the  first  symp- 
tom of  the  most  trifling  ailment  to  go  and  consult 
him.  Certain  fads  of  my  friend,  Doctor  de  Bon- 
nard,  on  the  treatment  of  throat  affections,  inspired 
me  with  only  a  relative  confidence  in  his  diagnosis. 

The  great  Cabarrus  having  prescribed  absolute 
rest,  I  determined  to  spend  a  few  weeks  at  Chauny, 
and  the  fact  that  my  daughter  supported  with 
difficulty  being  shut  up  in  Paris,  was  but  an  addi- 
tional and  imperative  reason  for  this  step. 

My  home  life  was  becoming  each  day  more  pain- 
ful to  endure.  Already,  before  this  brief  retreat 
to  my  father's  house,  I  had  proposed  to  my  hus- 
band a  definitive  and  friendly  separation. 

"  Never,"  he  said.    "  You  are  the  proudest  orna- 

[288] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


ment  of  my  home,  and  I  may  need  your  relations 
in  the  future.  We  must  never  even  think  of  separa- 
tion." 

It  would  serve  no  useful  purpose  to  detail  at 
length  the  story  of  my  sufferings  and  struggles. 
To  make  them  the  subject-matter  of  a  novel  would 
form  a  strange  sequel  to  my  book  on  Mon  Enfance 
et  Jeunesse  (The  Romance  of  my  Childhood  and 
Youth).  The  development  of  Positivist  ideas  in 
a  false  direction,  the  moral  deterioration  of  cer- 
tain Parisians,  might  possibly  afford  a  logical  ex- 
planation of  the  cruelties  I  had  to  endure  for  a 
long  time.  I  may  say,  however,  that  the  nature 
and  character  of  friends  like  Madame  d'Agoult, 
Jules  Grevy,  Arles-Dufour,  Jean  Reynaud,  Ed- 
mond  Adam,  George  Sand,  who  guarded,  protected, 
and  guided  me  in  my  troubles,  did  but  grow,  if  pos- 
sible, brighter  still,  from  the  reflected  rays  of  all 
the  kindness,  all  the  friendship,  fatherly  protection 
and  love  I  received  from  these  dear  friends.  But  to 
bring  forward  a  proof  of  their  moral  support,  of 
their  many  deeds  of  devoted  affection,  to  repeat 
once  again  all  that  my  father  was  to  me,  in  spite 
of  his  great  and  long-lasting  fear  of  my  husband, 
would  necessitate  the  disclosure  of  confidences 
which,  I  think,  should  ever  remain  secret  within  the 
domain  of  sealed  intimacy. 

[289] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Madame  d'Agoult  returned  from  Nice  the  day 
before  my  departure  for  Chauny.  I  was  ignorant 
of  this,  and  felt  sorry  I  could  not  see  her,  especially 
as  I  should  not  be  able  to  return  to  Paris.  My 
father,  in  agreement  with  Doctor  Cabarrus,  to 
whom  he  had  written,  ordered  me  to  take  the  waters 
at  Pierrefonds. 

Daniel  Stern  had  the  great  kindness  to  promise 
to  come  and  join  me  there. 

I  was  so  touched  by  this,  so  grateful  for  this 
proof  of  affection  on  the  part  of  so  influential  a 
friend  to  one  so  insignificant  as  myself,  that  I  wrote 
her  a  letter,  into  which  I  threw  all  my  heart.  To 
this  she  replied : 

"  My  little  Juliette,  you  return  a  hundredfold 
all  that  has  been  done  for  you.  I  shall  be  at 
Pierrefonds  in  three  days." 

As  soon  as  we  came  together  I  made  it  my  en- 
deavour, by  innumerable  attentions,  to  show  my 
deep  sense  of  gratitude  to  my  powerful  friend. 

In  the  morning  I  gathered  on  the  edge  of  the 
woods  the  flowers  she  loved  so  much,  and  my  first 
greeting  to  her  was  accompanied  by  a  posy  of 
flowers.  To  her  great  delight  I  repeated  this  each 
day  with  an  ever-varying  selection.  I  then  hastily 
ran  over  the  papers,  and  for  her  entertainment  told 
her  the  latest  news. 

[290] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


It  was  quite  sufficient  for  her  to  say,  "  My  little 
Juliette,  you  are  spoiling  me,"  and  I  felt  my  day 
was  a  success. 

Madame  d'Agoult  told  me  of  the  literary  dis- 
covery she  had  made  at  Nice.  She  had  unearthed 
a  woman  of  genius,  but  so  strange  and  so  whimsical 
that  all  that  had  ever  been  said  on  the  originality 
of  poets  was  now  cast  deep  into  Cimmerian  shade. 
Her  name  was  Madame  Ackermann.  The  constitu- 
tion of  her  mind  is  best  described  as  infernal.  Her 
atheism  was  so  provokingly  tantalizing  that,  as  she 
herself  would  say,  she  would  speak  her  mind  to  the 
Almighty,  if  she  thought  fit.  Her  conversation 
was  bewildering  in  its  very  unexpectedness,  and,  as 
Madame  d'Agoult  said,  was  as  terse  as  the  tersest 
of  epistles. 

Equally  at  home  with  the  dead  languages  as  with 
the  modern,  Madame  Ackermann  possessed  vast 
knowledge.  She  laughed  scornfully  and  with  fero- 
cious irony  at  all  feminine  claims. 

"  Without  ceasing  to  be  a  woman  and  to  darn 
my  stockings,  I  am  yet  the  freest  and  the  most 
latitudinarian  thinker  of  my  generation." 

"  Madame  Ackermann,"  remarked  Madame 
d'Agoult,  "  although  regretting  her  husband,  has 
a  horror  of  love, '  that  disease  of  the  temperament,' 
as  she  terms  it,  which  makes  her  appear  cruel  to 

[291] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


all  other  women  who  might  defend  or  feel  this 
passion.  You  cannot  imagine  her  apostrophes  to 
me,"  said  Madame  d'Agoult,  in  confession  to  me. 

In  our  walks  Madame  d'Agoult  often  returned 
to  the  subject  of  George  Sand. 

"  What  I  reproach  her  with,"  she  remarked,  "  is 
that  strange  mixture  of  the  conventional  with 
moral  eccentricity.  She  seems  to  be  continually 
reducing  her  wildest  passions  to  their  lowest  terms. 
She  is  everlastingly  talking  of  herself  and  of  her 
adventures,  as  if  the  bubbling  waters  of  her  im- 
pressions, once  having  left  the  source  of  her  mind, 
found  no  other  course  but  to  return  whence 
they  sprang.  But  what  I  cannot  forgive  is  her 
awkward  and  ungainly  appearance.  She  has  no 
idea  of  dress;  her  practical  joking,  and,  at  her 
age,  her  somewhat  Bohemian  habits,  are  little 
to  my  taste.  Such  a  want  of  dignity,  to  my 
mind,  compromises  the  whole  tribe  of  women 
who  write." 

"  But,  in  your  opinion,  my  dear  friend,"  I  re- 
plied, "  Madame  Ackermann  no  more  pursues  ele- 
gance and  good  taste  than  a  gardener's  wife  might 
do." 

"  It  is  not  quite  the  same  thing,"  came  the  reply. 
"  Madame  Ackermann,  as  she  herself  admits,  does 

[292] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


not  go  into  society.  Madame  Sand  is  a  society 
woman.  She  has  birth,  and  no  valid  excuse  for 
remaining  childish  as  she  grows  older." 

I  changed  the  subject  as  soon  as  I  could. 

"  Madame  Ackermann  declares  herself  the  foe 
of  circumstances ;  that  is  to  say,  of  all  those  idiotic 
phenomena  which  appear  without  sufficient  reason. 
Science  is  her  god.  The  thirst  to  know,  '  to  unveil 
the  mystery,'  is  ever  calling  her.  She  is  ever  strug- 
gling against  this  mystery,  and  becomes  intoxi- 
cated with  her  own  imprecations,  but  she  utters 
them  in  superb  defiance. 

"  Ever  in  revolt,  Madame  Ackermann  finds  peace 
nowhere.  She  does  not  believe  in  friendship ;  even 
perched  high  up  on  the  mountains,  dominating  the 
splendid  panorama  of  Nice,  she  lives  alone,  sur- 
rounded by  her  peasants,  who  cultivate  vegetables 
and  fruit,  in  equal  shares,  for  her  and  for  them- 
selves. Once  or  twice  a  week  she  goes  down  into 
Nice  to  stuff  her  necessary  provisions  into  a  long 
and  large  basket,  and  to  pay  a  few  calls.  At  times 
the  odour  of  these  provisions  is  somewhat  embar- 
rassing." 

Daniel  Stern  climbed  up  to  the  solitudes  of  Ma- 
dame Ackermann,  her  motto*  impelling  her,  and  as 
she  expressed  astonishment  not  to  find  the  prospect 
*  In  alta  solitudinem. 

[293] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


enlivened  by   a   few  flowers,   Madame  Ackermann 
replied : 

"  I  hate  flowers.  Smiles  and  the  perfumes  of 
nature  are  lies;  brightness  and  light  are  cruel  de- 
ceptions." 

Madame  d'Agoult  perceived  her  opinion  of 
George  Sand  had  not  the  slightest  influence  on 
mine.    However,  she  asked  me  one  day : 

"  I  suppose  you  still  have  your  weakness  for 
her?  " 

"  Yes,  in  the  precise  measure  of  my  strong  affec- 
tion for  you." 

"  But  what  is  it  that  especially  attracts  you  in 
Madame  Sand?  " 

"  Her  whole  work,  her  marvellous  productiveness, 
which  fascinates  me,  and  then  her  affection  for  the 
peasant,  whom  she  loves  as  I  love  him." 

"  For  my  part,  I  cannot  abide  a  peasant,"  said 
Madame  d'Agoult. 

"  I  realize  this  but  too  well,  my  dear  friend,  as 
you  did  not  even  deign  to  write  me  a  single  word 
on  the  subject  of  Mon  Village." 

"  The  book  interested  me,  not  on  account  of  the 
type  depicted,  as  I  have  found  in  my  experience  the 
peasant,  cunning,  greedy,  and  coarse,  but  I  was 
perfectly  charmed  with  the  composition  and  style. 
I  hope  to  discuss  the  whole  book  with  you  at  length, 

[294.] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


but  all  my  sympathies  go  to  the  townsman  and 
citizen.  In  workmen  and  artisans  I  find  elevated 
sentiments,  perspicacity,  and  a  generosity  of  nature 
unapproached  by  your  peasant." 

"  You  do  not  know  our  French  peasants.  Their 
equals  cannot  be  found  in  any  other  country.  The 
man  of  earth  is  fashioned  by  the  earth  as  much  as 
he  fashions  it,  and  we  must  love  both  at  the  same 
time." 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  you,  my  little  Juliette." 

"  You  must  forgive  me  for  having  vile  tastes 
and  the  tastes  of  a  villain,  please,  Countess." 

I  always  received  a  gentle  castigation  with  an 
umbrella  or  some  such  scourge  whenever  I  indulged 
in  any  spirited  quibbling.  But  Madame  d'Agoult, 
who  was  never  really  displeased  by  any  semblance 
of  independence  of  mind,  as  she  was  by  nature 
genuinely  liberal  and  tolerant,  only  smiled,  and  it 
was  over — but  to  begin  again. 


De  Ronchaud  had  to  break  his  holiday  at  Lu- 
picin  par  Claude  on  account  of  some  urgent  busi- 
ness. Spending  a  few  days  in  Paris,  he  found  time 
to  save  forty-eight  hours,  and  brought  Madame 
d'Agoult  the  latest  news. 

Prevost-Paradol  had  left  the  Debats. 

His  success  had  become  more  pronounced  than 

[295] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


ever  on  La  Presse.  People  raved  about  his  articles. 
The  Government  and  the  Imperialists  were  furious. 

Baron  de  Heckeren,  meeting  de  Ronchaud, 
whom  he  had  known  a  considerable  time,  said  to 
him  on  the  subject  of  Paradol: 

"  At  the  first  opportunity  they  will  crush  him." 

De  Ronchaud  told  us  that  in  his  conversation 
with  Heckeren  he  had  taken  a  keen  pleasure  in 
arousing  his  anxiety  by  remarking: 

"  Take  care,  take  very  good  care.  Your  Empire 
is  beginning  to  totter." 

Baron  Heckeren  retorted : 

"  Let  fate  decide ;  but  of  this  we  can  be  sure, 
we  have  had  a  real  good  time !  " 

At  this  period  Prevost-Paradol  was  being  prose- 
cuted on  account  of  his  pamphlet  on  Les  Anciens 
Partis,  and  he  was  condemned  to  three  months'  im- 
prisonment. 

"  Prevost-Paradol,"  said  Madame  d'Agoult, 
"  whom  I  greatly  admire,  and  whose  style  is  per- 
fectly delightful,  is,  in  my  opinion,  wrong  to  write 
for  La  Presse.  By  his  persistence  in  this  direction 
he  will  acquire  a  style  quite  foreign  to  natural 
genius.  I  already  think  he  is  less  himself  than 
when  he  was  at  the  Debats.  Our  friend  Vacherot, 
who  has  had  a  paternal  affection  for  Paradol  from 
the  day  that,  in  spite  of  his  weakness  in  Latin,  he 

[296] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


admitted  him  to  the  Ecolc  Normale,  wrote  me  yes- 
terday, suggesting  that  I  should  join  my  forces  to 
his  in  urging  our  young  friend  to  sever  his  connec- 
tion by  degrees  from  La  Presse,  where  he  is  expos- 
ing himself  to  a  utilitarian  influence  which  will 
undermine  his  noble  virtues  of  independence." 

It  was  a  favourite  theme  to  compare  the  genius 
of  About  and  that  of  Paradol.  In  spite  of  the  sum 
of  unquestionable  talent  displayed  by  About  in 
what  we  termed  his  "  works  to  order,"  such  as  his 
last  pamphlet  on  Prussia,  he  was  read  far  less  than 
Paradol. 

The  whole  of  young  France,  at  least  we  believed 
this  to  be  the  case,  was  anti-Imperialist.  The  com- 
parison winch  young  France  was  pleased  to  insti- 
tute between  the  "  writers  at  the  Tuileries  "  and  the 
independent  writers  was  hardly  in  favour  of  the 
former. 

Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer  wrote  to  Madame 
d'Agoult  on  the  subject  of  a  Swiss  competition  on 
The  Theory  of  Taxation;  or,  The  Social  Tithe, 
and  informed  her  she  had  entered  the  lists  along 
with  Proudhon.  She  had  beaten  him,  or  expected 
to  beat  him,  I  cannot  quite  remember  which  it  was, 
but  I  perfectly  well  remember  the  postscript  which 
Madame  d'Agoult  read  me: 

"  Kindly  impart  this  information  to  your  young 

[297] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


friend,  Madame  La  Niessine.  She  will  certainly  be 
glad  to  hear  this  news,  if  not  for  my  sake,  at  any 
rate,  as  against  Proudhon." 

Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer  was  in  the  habit 
of  writing  to  Madame  d'Agoult  long  and  learned 
epistles  crammed  with  all  sorts  of  quotations  from 
her  past  and  present  works.  My  friend,  whose  ad- 
miration for  her  was  very  sincere,  often  made  me 
read  out  these  letters,  and  my  delight  was  to  tease 
her  by  asking  her  to  explain  certain  passages. 

One  day  I  exclaimed  triumphantly: 

"  Ah,  this  time  I  can  understand  all  by  myself, 
thanks  to  certain  prints  of  the  celebrated  works  of 
Monsieur  de  la  Palice !  " 

The  quotation  ran  as  follows :  "  The  fatal  im- 
perfection of  all  language  perpetuates  human  dis- 
putes ;  nobody  ever  understands  a  speaker  or  a 
writer  as  he  understands  himself." 

I  had  read  Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer,  and 
had  meditated  over  "  the  penetration  of  mind  by 
matter  and  of  matter  by  mind."  I  admired  her 
balanced  and  antithetical  arrangement  of  words, 
as  in  the  following  formula : 

"  All  mind  is  body,  and  all  body  is  mind,  ani- 
mating a  single  entity  by  its  essence,  and  multiple 
in  number." 

This  great  philosopher  affirmed  that  Descartes 

[298] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


was  mistaken,  that  he  had  stated  the  question  badly, 
and  that  matter  no  more  exists  than  mind.  Mate- 
rialism appeared  a  boorish  doctrine  to  Mademoiselle 
Clemence  Royer,  Positivism  was  a  stage  towards  a 
higher  evolution,  which  she  defined.  She  herself 
had  reached  this  stage  and  termed  it  "  monism." 

On  my  asking  Madame  d'Agoult  if  she  was  a 
"  monist,"  she  replied  with  a  sort  of  "  Well,  well," 
which  seemed  to  imply,  "  Well,  perhaps  I  am." 

Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer  was  an  admirable 
interpreter.  Outside  this  faculty  her  capacities 
were  rather  destructive  than  creative;  very  much, 
in  fact,  like  her  rival,  Proudhon. 

During  our  stay  at  Pierrefonds  we  received  a 
mass  of  letters  about  the  "  scandal  of  the  Vaude- 
ville." A  wrild  play  in  three  acts,  called  Ce  qui 
Plait  aux  Femmes,  was  being  played  at  this  theatre 
at  the  end  of  July.  It  was  a  medley  of  many  styles. 
They  first  declaimed  in  prose  and  then  in  verse. 
There  was  dancing  and  singing,  and  each  act  was 
complete  in  itself.  Truth  to  tell,  there  was  no 
meaning  to  be  discovered  in  this  disconnected  ex- 
travaganza. The  author  was  Ponsard,  classic 
Ponsard,  who  wanted  "to  know  just  once"  what 
it  felt  like  to  be  fancy  free. 

The  Censor  of  Plays  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  what  could  not  be  understood  must  be  danger- 
30  [  299  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


ous,  interdicted  the  piece,  and  the  author  was  exiled 
for — four  days ! 

Somebody  at  table  who  had  seen  Ce  qui  Plait 
aux  Femmes  declared  that  it  was  a  hundred  times 
inferior  to  Les  Exploits  de  Rocambole. 

De  Ronchaud  had  left  us  a  few  days  before.  I 
was  soon  to  lose  Madame  d'Agoult,  who  was  re- 
turning to  Paris  to  be  present  at  the  first  night  of 
Charles  Edmond's  new  play,  L'Africain,  at  the 
Francais.  Charles  Edmond  and  Madame  Vilbort 
had  both  written  me  to  come  up,  and  that  my  seat 
was  reserved.  But  I  wished  more  than  ever  at  this 
moment  not  to  return  to  my  husband.  Besides,  the 
Pierrefonds  doctor  told  me  I  must  undergo  another 
week's  treatment.  I  wrote  to  my  father  to  come 
over  and  decide  for  me.  Pierrefonds  was  so  near 
Chauny ! 

I  also  asked  him  to  thank  Madame  d'Agoult  for 
her  motherly  kindness  to  me. 

My  father  came  over,  and  knew  how  to  express 
to  Madame  d'Agoult,  in  terms  which  greatly 
touched  her,  his  gratitude  and  my  mother's  for  the 
protection  she  extended  to  their  beloved  daughter. 

Soon  I  was  left  alone  at  Pierrefonds,  but  I  was 
not  long  in  discovering  that  this  isolation  em- 
boldened gallant  gentlemen  to  somewhat  overt  acts 
of    indiscretion.     I    received    presents    of    flowers, 

[300] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


which  I,  in  due  course,  presented  to  the  manageress 
of  the  hotel.  Notes  also  were  addressed  to  me, 
which  I  tore  up  unread.  But  what  annoyed  me 
most  was  that  I  was  unable  to  take  my  accustomed 
walks  in  the  forest  or  move  about  without  meeting 
people  I  did  not  wish  to  see.  I  therefore  left  Pierre- 
fonds  and  returned  to  Chauny. 

At  home  with  my  parents,  alternating  rest  with 
solid  hard  work  on  my  Mandarin,  I  spent  several 
very  delightful  weeks,  not  quite  unclouded  by  dis- 
tress, it  is  true,  as  my  good  mother  in  her  dramatic 
way  often  lamented  my  unhappy  marriage. 

My  little  Alice,  passing  most  of  her  time  at 
Chauny  in  the  open  air,  was  in  excellent  health,  and 
my  father  begged  me  to  let  her  remain  with  them 
some  time  longer. 

I  now  returned  to  Paris.  My  friends  were  slowly 
coming  back.  Madame  d'Agoult  had  remained  in 
town.  Arles-Dufour  was  up  for  a  few  days.  He 
told  me  and  gave  proof  of  his  desire  to  be  useful  to 
me.  Toussenel  "  crossed  the  Rue  de  Beaune,"  as 
my  old  Beuque  used  to  say.  The  Fauvetys  never 
ceased  showing  their  devotion  to  me.  Here  were 
all  my  dearest  friends,  and  great  was  my  delight 
to  be  among  them  again. 

I  often  pilgrimaged  to  Neuilly  to  see  my  cousin 
Vilbort.     Here  I  frequently  met  Charles  Edmond, 

[301  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Sarcey,  About,  Louis  Jourdan.  Discussion  was  now 
no  longer  in  fashion  as  formerly.  Everbody  was 
busy  at  games  in  the  garden.  The  men  played  at 
skittles  and  the  women  at  graces.  I  missed  the 
brilliant  intellectual  tournaments  of  a  former  time 
between  About  and  Sarcey.  Our  games,  while 
pleasantly  diverting,  afforded  but  little  instruction. 

A  deluge  of  rain,  accompanied  by  a  terrific 
storm,  compelled  us  after  breakfast  one  day,  in 
spite  of  our  heroic  resistance  beneath  umbrellas,  to 
take  shelter  within  doors. 

My  cousin  and  myself  both  felt  the  same  desire 
to  bring  About  and  Sarcey  together  once  again. 
I  asked  Jourdan  to  assist  us  in  this  endeavour,  but 
Sarcey  was  far  less  eager  than  in  the  old  days  to 
"  let  himself  loose  "  on  About. 

A  marked  change  had  come  over  Sarcey.  He 
seemed  to  have  conquered  his  whole  personality. 
It  is  true  he  still  loved  his  old  friend,  but  he  cate- 
gorically and  frankly  imposed  certain  restrictions 
on  his  habit  of  jesting,  and  to-day  he  solemnly  pro- 
tested against  About's  mania  of  "  passing  every- 
thing through  the  sieve  of  words." 

The  expression  struck  home  and  won  its  com- 
mendation, and  Jourdan,  the  sincerest  believer  in 
right,  in  good,  and  in  justice,  added: 

"  The  truth  is,  the  mind,  whose  sole  aim  is  to  be 

[302] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


brilliant,  becomes  in  this  process  a  wild  iconoclast, 
and  succeeds  only  in  breaking  the  heads  of  the 
puppets  erected  with  so  much  difficulty." 

"  And  yet  this  breaking  of  heads  is  so  delightful 
in  itself,"  retorted  About.  "  Bang,  bang,  well 
thrown;  another  unhappy  puppet  put  out  of 
action." 

"  And  what  happens  next?  "  queried  Sarcey. 

"  Why,  then  recourse  is  had  to  Taine  to  prop 
the  slaughtered  innocents  up  again.  You  who  ad- 
mire him  so  much  must  admit  he  performs  passing 
well  this  office  of  restoration." 

"  I  must  perforce  confess  he  works  serious  havoc, 
but  he  does  not  wantonly  destroy  and  devastate  in 
anything  like  the  same  measure  as  you  do.  Just 
consider  what  scrupulous  care  and  method  he  uses 
in  analyzing  a  fact  before  he  transforms  it  into 
ammunition  for  his  battle." 

"  I  grant  he  never  tosses  his  slaughtered  foes  to 
the  winds  with  the  same  indifference  that  I  do.  He 
gathers  them  carefully  into  heaps.  But  for  the 
rest,  my  opinion  is  he  leaves  intact  considerably 
fewer  beliefs  and  enthusiasms  than  I  do." 

"  At    any    rate,    Taine    always    leaves    us    some 
hope  that   one  day   or  other  he  will  start  recon- 
structing,   while    you    just    destroy    for    destruc- 
tion's sake." 

[303] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  No !  this  is  too  strong.  How  can  you  say  I 
am  a  mere  iconoclast,  when  I  am  the  only  Nor- 
malian,  the  only  Conservative,  who  accepts  the  es- 
tablished government?  " 

"  Why,  you  are  demolishing  this  Empire  of 
yours  more  light-heartedly  than  any  one.  Have 
you  ever  resisted  this  temptation  by  one  single 
word?     You  will  die  a  revolutionary  yet." 

"  Unhappy  man !  you  wrong  me  outrageously. 
I  am  a  very  pillar  of  the  Empire — which  will  soon 
be  democratic.  Have  I  ever  said,  with  Taine,  that 
I  submit  to  the  present  order  of  things  as  to  '  a 
necessary  evil '  ?  I  am  sincerely  attached  to  the 
ivy  which  binds  the  Empire  to  Prince  Napoleon. 
And  what  an  ivy  it  is !  He  has  strength  and  power, 
he  has  knowledge,  fore-knowledge,  and  talent.  Do 
you  know  what  Renan  said  to  me  the  other  day  at 
the  Palais  Royal?     He  said,  '  He  is  a  genius.'  " 

"  For  my  part,"  replied  Sarcey,  "  I  am  not  to 
be  convinced  of  this  or  that  by  mere  exaggerations. 
On  the  contrary,  I  should  like  to  see  in  the  younger 
generation  of  Normalians,  in  men  like  Paradol, 
Assolant,  yourself,  and  even  in  that  last  one  of 
the  older  set,  like  Challemel,  another  kind  of  spirit. 
I  should  like  to  perceive  them  not  forever  in  the 
vanguard  of  words,  but  rather  in  the  rearguard 
of  thought,  like  your  Cousins,  your  Guizots,  your 

[304] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


Villemains.    My  ideal  Normalian  is  thoughtful  and 
collected." 

"  Well,  you  have  Taine,  but  he  differs  from  us 
only  in  form.  He  does  not  fight  or  destroy  in  the 
same  way  as  we  do.  But  with  his  positivism,  his 
dogmatism,  his  scientificism,  his  Spinozism,  his  par- 
ticularism, his  observationism,  his  criticism,  he 
would  turn  us  into  a  generation  of  experimental- 
ists, realists,  analysts,  exacticians,  fatalists,  anti- 
idealists,  anti-artists,  in  a  word,  all  anti-French 
and  anti-Gallic.  I  wish  to  remain  imaginative  and 
spiritual  at  least.  The  only  thing  which  concerns 
Taine  is  his  constant  preoccupation  not  to  stray 
from  the  beaten  track  of  common  sense.  He  casts 
a  spell  over  you  by  his  very  weaknesses.  He  makes 
La  Fontaine  the  first  of  educators,  and  to  please 
you  would  extol  Boileau !  " 

"  All  that  you  say,"  rejoined  Sarcey,  "  in  spite 
of  its  witty  flavour,  is  not  without  a  certain  element 
of  truth.  What  a  pity  it  is  you  do  not  dig  the 
sand  deep  instead  of  playing  at  scattering  the  sur- 
face dust  in  our  faces.  I  think  you  would  save  us, 
because  your  penetrating  and  clear  mind  perceives 
many  things.  I  also  deplore  and  become  anxious 
at  all  those  systems  which  tend  to  make  every 
Frenchman  a  methodical  registrar  and  a  mere 
classifier  of  nothings.      We  shall  soon  be   in  the 

[305] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


position  of  having  more  learned  fools  than  ignorant 
fools.  We  have  all  gone  verification  mad.  I  should 
like  to  see  a  seed  planted  which  might  grow  into 
something." 

"  Why,  this  is  the  most  damaging  criticism  of 
Taine's  method.  Your  beloved  favourite  is  much 
more  anxious  to  prove  the  existence  of  tares  in  the 
gathered  harvest  than  to  sow  the  good  seed  for  a 
future  one.    My  aim  is  above  all  to  sow  good  seed." 

"  Look  here,  About,  do  you  know  why  I  like 
you.  Because  in  the  very  midst  of  all  your  raillery, 
and  all  your  cynicism,  you  suddenly  speak  words 
which  come  straight  from  your  heart.  You  are 
many  times  better  than  you  wish  to  appear." 

"  Well  said !  well  said !  "  repeated  Jourdan.  "  I 
love  you  both.  You  are  good  and  clever  fellows. 
We  want  more  men  of  your  stamp  in  the  France  of 
to-day.  You  have  both  of  you  voiced  sentiments 
which  ought  to  be  spoken  and  heard.  Just  go  on, 
my  children,  fighting  and  hoping.  Moral  equi- 
librium is  always  restored,  but  this  does  not  prevent 
our  crushing  those  who  attempt  to  destroy  our 
equilibrium.  For  my  part,  I  can  never  forgive 
Taine  his  statement  that  virtue  and  vice  are  simple 
products,  like  sugar  and  coffee.  I  agree  with 
About;  we  are  surfeited  with  systems,  and  Sarcey 
shares   our   opinion.      We   are   ingurgitating   too 

[306] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


much  science.  The  reaction  of  the  banished  imagi- 
nation will  be  terrible.  She  will  return  to  us  ac- 
companied by  a  retinue  of  the  wildest  dreams  and 
most  fantastic  superstitions.  You  younger  men 
will  witness  the  truth  of  this." 

"  Ah,"  said  Vilbort,  "  how  these  discussions 
show  up  the  emptiness  of  political  tittle-tattle. 
This  very  night  I  shall  write  down  the  impressions 
of  this  conversation  and  re-read  them  in  a  quarter 
of  a  century." 

I,  like  Vilbort,  the  same  evening  wrote  down  what 
I  had  just  heard.  One  day,  in  1878,  when  Gam- 
betta,  Challemel-Lacour,  Spuller,  and  About  were 
discussing  Zola  at  my  house,  I  produced  my  notes 
and  read  them.  About  perfectly  well  recollected 
the  general  sense  of  his  conversation  on  Taine  with 
Sarcey,  and  it  appeared  interesting  to  all  of  us  at 
that  time,  and  would  be  still  more  so  to-day,  be- 
cause at  this  period  Gambetta,  Challemel-Lacour, 
and  About  himself  were  dabbling  in  Positivism 
and  science. 

The  talk  then  turned  on  the  convention  between 
England  and  France,  to  put  an  end  to  the  massa- 
cres in  Syria,  on  the  landing  of  our  troops,  on  the 
Chinese  war,  the  occupation  of  the  forts  of  the 
Pei-Ho.  We  all  bitterly  deplored  that  our  foreign 
policy  was  at   the   mercy   of   the   English,   to  be 

[  307  J 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


turned  to  their  own  and  sole  advantage.  My 
father,  who,  like  all  true  Picardians,  was  fervidly 
anti-British,  wrote  me  letters  in  which  his  intensity 
of  feeling  on  the  subject  evidently  disconcerted  his 
logical  faculty. 

At  Madame  d'Agoult's  and  in  Opposition  circles 
opinion  was  unanimous  that  in  China  the  French 
were  sacrificing  themselves  for  British  advantage 
and  prestige.  One  day  as  Littre  and  I  were  dis- 
cussing politics  at  our  mutual  friend's  house,  and 
on  my  quoting  to  him  some  words  of  my  father  of 
extreme  violence  against  the  Chinese  war,  he  made 
this  reply,  which  I  have  not  forgotten: 

"  The  politics  of  the  men  of  1848  will  never  be 
dissolved,  because  each  one  of  them  is  forced  to 
confess  that  the  Empire  has  only  become  possible 
by  accepting  all  their  faults,  all  their  divisions, 
all  their  hatreds." 

The  entry  of  the  French  troops  into  Pekin,  fol- 
lowed by  the  looting  of  the  Summer  Palace,  ex- 
cited indignation  in  some  and  rejoicing  in  others. 
We  of  the  Opposition  were  by  no  means  exagger- 
ating when  we  said  that  in  the  Chinese  war  France 
was  the  dupe  of  England.  I  had  a  proof  of  this 
from  a  confidential  statement  of  Count  IgnatiefF 
many  years  later.  He  told  me  the  English  were 
making  use  of  and  supplanting  the  French  every- 

[308] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


where.  The  English  so  managed  that  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Chinese  the  French  appeared  mere  mercena- 
ries. The  English  wished  to  prevent  them  march- 
ing through  Pekin,  but  he  (Count  Ignatieff) 
warned  General  Cousin-Montauban  of  what  was 
going  on.  "  March  through,"  Ignatieff  advised 
him,  "  with  flags  unfurled  and  drums  beating.  You 
will  meet  with  no  resistance." 

Our  delight  can  be  imagined  at  the  defeat  of 
Castelfidardo.  But  Edmond  Adam,  who  had  now 
become  most  assiduous  in  attendance  at  Madame 
d'Agoult's,  was  alone  depressed  by  the  news ;  not, 
of  course,  on  account  of  the  blow  given  to  the 
cause  defended  by  Lamoriciere — for  Adam  was, 
like  all  the  rest  of  us,  anti-Clerical — but  he  sympa- 
thized with  the  general  himself.  It  was  in  com- 
pany with  Lamoriciere  that  in  June  he  had  gone 
to  the  assault  of  the  Saint- Antoine  barricade,  and 
he  found  it  sad  to  see  him  now  defeated. 

I  saw  Toussenel,  who  was  furious  at  Michelet's 
last  book  of  La  Femme,  which  he  had  finally  made 
up  his  mind  to  read. 

"  What  has  he  done  with  our  Velleda  ?  "  he  asked 
me.  "  Because  he  first  marries  a  cold  and  unsym- 
pathetic girl,  and  second  an  emotional  and  sensi- 
tive woman,  he  makes  claim  to  have  discovered 
woman,  the  real  woman.     What  does  he  morally 

[309] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


know  of  the  question,  whose  sole  title  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  women  is  derived  second-hand  through 
studying  the  history  of  the  ambitious  mistresses  of 
our  kings?  Woman,"  continued  Toussenel,  clasp- 
ing his  hands,  "  I  have  described  her,  I,  who 
believe  I  know  her,  as  the  being  adorably  per- 
fectible, almost  touching  the  divine  from  the 
double  point  of  view  of  physical  beauty  and  in- 
tellectual splendour.  Let  us  compare  a  woman 
of,  let  us  say,  the  period  of  the  lake-dwellers,  when 
she  was  a  sort  of  monster,  with  what  she  is 
to-day!  What  is  she  not  capable  of  becoming? 
What  was  she  already  in  Athens,  in  Gaul?  What 
will  she  be  in  a  hundred  years'  time,  when  peace 
and  harmony  shall  reign  on  earth?  " 

On  leaving  Toussenel  I  went  and  joined  Madame 
d'Agoult  in  her  walk.  She  was  fond  of  having 
two  or  three  friends  with  her  at  such  times.  I 
found  her  accompanied  by  one  of  her  relatives  from 
Nice,  whom  she  had  often  mentioned  to  me,  a 
young  diplomat  of  great  promise,  who  begged  us 
not  to  mention  his  name  should  we  ever  happen  to 
transcribe  that  day's  conversation. 

Aware  that  Madame  d'Agoult  was  thinking  of 
Michelet's  Femme,  I  told  the  story  of  Toussenel's 
revolt. 

"  That  conception  of  a  sick  woman,  that  settled 

[310] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


opinion  of  belittling  a  whole  sex  forever,  which  is 
daily  proving  its  worth,  makes  me  also  indignant," 
said  Madame  d'Agoult. 

Our  diplomat  seemed  to  be  quite  at  home  with 
the  manners,  ways,  and  character  of  Madame 
Michelet. 

"  This  young  wife,"  he  said  to  us,  "  is  clever- 
ness personified.  She  makes  her  husband  turn  out 
bad  books,  but  furnishes  him  with  the  opportunity 
of  writing  beautiful  pages  on  the  sentiments  of  an 
old  man  rejuvenated  by  love." 

"  This  book,"  continued  Madame  d'Agoult, 
"  inspires  me  with  a  sort  of  revulsion.  Already 
Michelet,  the  historian,  torments  me  by  the  magic 
and  the  passion  of  his  style,  and  by  that  diligent 
search  for  small  causes  which  seems  to  me  an  insult 
to  the  majesty  of  history;  such,  at  any  rate,  as  I 
comprehend  it.  To  prove  woman  sick  and  feeble 
is  an  indignity  offered  to  every  young  girl  in  good 
health,  to  the  strong  wife,  to  the  buxom  matron, 
to  all  women  who  work  in  field  or  town,  and  such 
statements  are  made  for  the  benefit  of  a  useless  and 
narrow-minded  class  to  do  honour  to  some  weak 
and  feeble  lady  who  would  have  acquired  robust 
health  by  mating  with  a  lusty  young  fellow 
and  becoming  the  mother  of  half  a  dozen 
children." 

[311] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  I  have  a  horror  of  Michelet,"  abruptly  chimed 
in  our  young  diplomat. 

"  Why  a  horror?  "  asked  Madame  d'Agoult. 

"  I  will  give  you  my  reasons.  What  I  hold 
dearer  than  anything  else  is  liberty  of  conscience." 

"  But  we  all  of  us  hold  to  that,"  replied  Madame 
d'Agoult.  "  To  us  Republicans,  and  by  conse- 
quence Liberals,  toleration  is  our  necessary  and  in- 
dispensable formula." 

"  Yet  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  tyrannical 
Republican." 

"  Well,  then,  such  a  one  needs  a  qualifying  con- 
dition to  his  title  of  Republican." 

"  But  the  real  and  genuine  Republican  is  by 
necessary  inference  a  Liberal." 

"  I  am  aware,  Madame,  of  the  existence  in  your 
ranks  of  a  large  number  of  anti-Clericals,  and 
therefore  I  have  considerable  misgivings  for  your 
coming  Republic." 

"  Well — touching  your  horror  of  Michelet?  " 

"  This  sentiment,  Madame,  dates  its  origin  back 
to  my  old  Strasburg  days,  at  which  time  I  was  in- 
timate with  Michelet's  son.  He  was  a  very  nice 
young  fellow,  honourable  and  affectionate,  modest 
and  of  average  intelligence.  He  possessed  not  in- 
deed those  attainments  and  abilities  which  single 
out  a  man  pre-eminently  for  future  greatness,  but 

[312] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


his  qualities  were  rather  such  as  win  esteem  in  pri- 
vate life.     Some  years  subsequent  to  the  death  of 
their  mother,  both  he  and  his  sister — who  was  the 
elder  of  the  two  and  the  wife  of  Monsieur  de  La- 
martine's  secretary — surrendered  their  maternal  in- 
heritance to  Michelet.     They  did  this  at  the  request 
of  their  father,  who  pleaded  his  very  embarrassed 
circumstances  owing  to  the  loss  of  post  and  salary 
consequent  on  the  Second  of  December.     At  the 
period  of  my  intimacy  with  Michelet's  son,  that  is 
to  say,  in   1833,  his  income  was  derived   from  a 
small  clerical  salary  earned  in  the  office  of  the  Re- 
ceiver-General of  Taxes   for  the  Bas-Rhin.      His 
father  was  ashamed  and  impatient  at  the  mediocrity 
of  such  a  situation,  but  rarely  sent  him  any  money. 
In  the  meantime,  as  soon  as  the  maternal  legacy, 
which  belonged  by  right  to  the  children,  had  been 
made  over  to  him,  Michelet  married  again  a  woman 
younger  than  his  son,  and  above  all,  younger  than 
his  daughter,  and  incurred  all  the  additional  ex- 
pense of  setting  up  a  second  household.    He  doubt- 
less comforted  himself  with  the  reflection  that  this 
renunciation  on  the  part  of  his  children  was  right 
for  them  to  make  and  right  for  him  to  accept.    Un- 
fortunately, he  did  not  stop  there.     One  fine  day 
the  thought  seems  to  have  occurred  to  him  that  his 
son,   being   in   the   service   of   a   Receiver-General 

[313] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


for  Taxation,  would  be  considered  a  supporter  of 
tyranny,  and  that  this  would  seriously  compromise 
Michelet  himself.  He  therefore  set  himself  to 
bombard  the  son  with  letters,  urging  him  in  forcible 
terms  to  find  other  employment. 

"  Weary  of  this  dreary  war,  the  unhappy  fellow 
yielded  to  the  importunate  father,  and  went  and 
buried  himself  in  a  post  of  Superintendent  of  Rail- 
ways, where  his  emoluments  were  just  sufficient  to 
keep  body  and  soul  together.  His  new  duties  com- 
pelling him  to  spend  many  of  his  nights  out  be- 
yond the  fortifications— the  unhealthiest  of  local- 
ities, perhaps — he  soon  contracted  a  fever.  His 
father,  on  being  informed  of  his  son's  illness,  took 
matters  so  leisurely  that  on  arriving  at  his  son's 
bedside  he  found  him  dead.  He  doubtless  soon 
consoled  himself  for  this  loss,  but,  scandalous  to 
relate,  he  witnessed  the  body  surrounded  with 
tapers  and  holding  a  crucifix  in  its  hand.  This 
appalling  spectacle  was  too  much  for  his  sensitive 
nature. 

"  The  friends  of  the  dead  man  and  myself  were 
standing  in  the  room,  when  Michelet  addressed  us 
in  an  excited  tone,  exclaiming :  *  They  are  insulting 
me;  it  is  all  a  plot  and  a  cabal.  Let  these  trum- 
peries be  removed  forthwith.' 

"  '  Excuse  me,  sir,'  I  said,  politely,  but  firmly, 

[314] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


'  we  are  the  friends  of  your  unhappy  son.  We 
each  nursed  him  in  turn  during  his  illness,  not  with- 
out considerable  risk  to  ourselves  of  contracting 
the  malady.  Conscious  that  his  end  was  approach- 
ing, your  son,  of  his  own  free  will,  requested  the 
administration  of  Extreme  Unction  and  of  the  last 
sacraments.  We  strenuously  oppose  any  removal 
of  the  symbols  of  religion  from  the  dead  man's 
chamber.  If  such  tokens  inconvenience  you,  then 
you  must  make  your  appeal  before  the  President 
of  the  Tribunal.' 

"  '  You  are  mocking  me,'  replied  Michelet,  an- 
grily. '  You  surely  must  know  that  under  the 
Empire  there  is  no  justice  for  a  man  like  me.  I 
insist  on  your  leaving  here  and  claim  my  rights  as 
a  father.' 

"  '  Sir,'  I  replied,  '  your  son  was  of  age.  He 
expressed  the  wish  to  be  buried  as  a  Christian. 
This  shall  be  done.  While  he  was  alive  I  was  his 
intimate  friend,  and  am  not  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  during  his  life  you  performed  your  duties  as 
a  father  in  a  very  shameful  way.  This,  therefore, 
is  hardly  the  time  to  claim  your  rights  of  a  father.' 

"  '  You  are  an  impudent  rascal.' 

"  '  You  are  a  sectary  and  a  criminal  to  boot. 
With  your  son  lying  dead  you  show  neither  rever- 
ence nor  fitness  in  indulging  in  vulgar  vitupera- 
21  [  315  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


tions.     Let  me  speak  most  plainly  to  you.     I  hold 
you  responsible  for  the  death  of  your  son.' 

"  At  this  juncture  Monsieur  Michelet  made  an 
unhappy  movement,  which  seemed  to  threaten  in- 
sult. Four  arms  immediately  seized  him  and  caused 
him  to  turn  on  his  heel,  while  one  of  our  friends 
pushed  him  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 

"  The  landlady,  who  was  the  proprietress  of  the 
Kleber  Baths,  happening  to  open  the  door,  Mon- 
sieur Michelet  seized  the  opportunity  to  make  good 
his  escape.  A  minor  detail  has  escaped  my  mem- 
ory, Who  paid  for  the  funeral?  I  no  longer  quite 
recollect.  A  report  was  bruited  in  Strasburg  that 
the  liabilty  was  discharged  by  the  Jesuits,  but  the 
Fathers  denied  it.  However,  I  am  inclined  to  be- 
lieve that  the  necessary  expenses  were  defrayed 
by  one  of  the  reverend  gentlemen,  Father  Francois, 
who  had  attended  young  Michelet  in  his  last  mo- 
ments." 

"  Michelet  had  a  double  nature,"  remarked  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult.  "  I  have  known  such  characters. 
Pen  in  hand,  he  no  doubt  felt  truly  enough  the 
sentiments  he  describes.  It  is  not  conceivable  that 
he  could  have  played  at  comedy  all  through  his 
life.  Such  really  genuine  and  sincere  chords  can- 
not be  set  vibrating  by  a  mere  effort  of  sustained 
rhetoric.     On  the  other  hand,  can  we  allow  that  it 

[316] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


is  possible  for  a  man  to  possess  a  purely  cerebral 
conception  of  the  emotions  of  kindness,  generosity, 
and  magnanimity?  " 

"  Michelet  was  a  bad  father  all  his  life,"  added 
our  diplomat.  "  How  can  such  astute  spoliation 
of  his  children  with  a  view  to  a  second  marriage 
be  reconciled  with  the  devoted  love  of  the  human 
race?  Such  love  must  be  mere  pose.  Vanity, 
egoism,  dominate  in  Michelet,  and  for  this  reason 
I,  the  friend  of  the  son  whom  he  abandoned  and 
sacrificed,  detest  him." 

Madame  d'Agoult  had  just  received  a  book 
which  she  lent  me,  Merlin  l'Enchanteur,  by  Edgar 
Quinet,  with  a  dedication  dated  "  from  Veytaux, 
near  the  old  Castle  of  Chillon."  This  book  gave 
me  great  delight.  It  was  a  work  of  amazing 
audacity,  and  interesting  as  a  medley  of  legend, 
folk-lore,  and  actual  realism.  The  style  was  good 
and  limpid,  somewhat  emphatic  perhaps,  but,  as 
was  fitting,  bringing  into  harmonious  and  delicate 
setting  the  different  epochs,  ideas,  and  nations  of 
history.  Merlin  l'Enchanteur  is  so  essentially  a 
book  inspired  by  its  epoch  and  period  that  it  must 
be  quite  impossible  to  understand  it  to-day. 
Jacques  Bonhomme  is  surely  out  of  date. 

The  Princesse  Belgiojoso  conferred  on  me  the 

[317] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


great  honour  of  sending  me  by  our  mutual  friend, 
Dall'  Ongaro,  her  last  book,  La  Maison  de  Savoie, 
in  which  the  breath  of  her  ardent  love  for  Italy 
animates  every  page. 

The  list  of  books  published  at  this  date  would 
be  far  too  extensive  to  draw  up.  Bad  books  were 
rare.  Of  course  one  had  moments  of  despair  when 
such  a  worthless  book  appeared  as  the  Lui  of  Ma- 
dame Louise  Collet.  It  was  repugnant.  Musset 
was  disgracefully  described,  and  Flaubert  was  rid- 
iculed as  an  eccentric,  disliking  the  country  and 
not  liking  town,  anxious  and  tormented,  incapable 
of  a  sustained  effort,  taking  five  hours  to  write  five 
lines,  which  he  touched  up  or  destroyed  the  next 
day. 

Madame  d'Agoult  had  more  control  over  her 
patience  than  I  had  with  all  this  malicious  nonsense 
about  Flaubert  dished  up  by  Madame  Collet.  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult  had  no  great  admiration  for  Flau- 
bert as  a  writer.  She  found  fault  with  his  morbid 
craving  for  touching  up.  "  That  excessive  hank- 
ering after  perfection,"  as  she  termed  it,  "  was 
as  harmful  to  the  flow  of  the  thought  as  it 
was  baneful  to  the  life  and  movement  of  the 
style." 

Here  again  we  judged  according  to  different 
standards.     I  had  read  Madame  Bovary,  not  in- 

[318] 


GUSTAVE  FLAUBERT. 
From  au  etching  by  H.  Toussaint. 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


deed  for  the  sake  of  the  intrigue,  the  realism  of 
which  shocked  me,  but  for  the  delicate  chiselling 
of  the  form,  which  quite  charmed  me. 

At  Madame  de  Pierreclos's,  who  had  just  arrived 
from  Macon,  and  who  was  resuming  again  her  "At 
Homes  "  from  four  to  six,  I  one  day  met  Louis  Ul- 
bach,  the  author  of  Monsieur  et  Madame  Fernel,  a 
delightful  romance  and  quite  the  success  of  the 
year.  Louis  Ulbach  was  a  man  of  real  talent  and 
good-natured.  He  led  a  hard  and  tempestuous  life, 
which  must  often  have  been  difficult  financially. 
But  his  animation  was  such  that  he  was  often  in 
request  even  by  those  from  whom  he  borrowed  too 
frequently.  Madame  de  Pierreclos,  with  whom  he 
was  a  favourite,  used  to  say  of  him :  "  Every  day 
he  needs  three  thousand  francs  before  three  o'clock ; 
but  as  this  sum  is  only  forthcoming  three,  or  at 
most  four,  times  a  year,  the  rest  of  the  time  .  .  . 
he  manages  to  do  without  money." 

It  was  delightful  to  listen  to  Madame  de  Pierre- 
clos dilating  on  Le  Voyage  de  Monsieur  Perrichon, 
still  fresh  on  the  posters  and  known  but  to  very 
few  people.  As  for  me,  I  told  Madame  Fauvety 
I  would  not  go  and  see  it,  being  convinced  that  it 
would  be  inferior  to  the  merits  discovered  by  Ma- 
dame de  Pierreclos. 

On  the  same  day  as  Madame  de  Pierreclos,  with 

[319] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


such  real  humour,  described  to  us  Le  Voyage  de 
Monsieur  Perrichon,  she  gave  us  some  most  inter- 
esting details  of  the  first  love-affair  of  Berlioz,  the 
married  heroine  of  which,  Madame  Estelle  Fornier, 
she  knew  at  Lyons.  It  was  a  pure  love-affair,  an 
idyll  of  delicate  freshness,  and  a  sentiment  of  such 
ethereal  idealism  that  it  was  difficult  to  realize  the 
same  man  could  become  the  impetuous  lover  of  Miss 
Harriet  Smithson,  whom  he  married.  Poor  wom- 
an ! — his  wife  indeed  she  was — but,  guilty  of  con- 
ventionality and  narrow-mindedness,  she  was  soon 
abandoned  and  died  of  grief.  Madame  de  Pierre- 
clos  had  in  her  possession  a  letter  of  Berlioz  to  the 
young  girl  he  loved,  and  at  the  end  of  her  story 
she  read  it  for  us  so  touchingly  and  sympathet- 
ically that  all  eyes  were  moistened  with  tears. 

Of  a  truth,  the  niece  of  Monsieur  de  Lamartine 
possessed  all  the  graces  of  the  mind  and  all  the 
sensibilities  of  the  heart. 

The  next  day  I  went  round  to  all  my  friends, 
telling  them,  "  Get  Madame  de  Pierreclos  to  de- 
scribe you  Le  Voyage  de  Monsieur  Perrichon  and 
Berlioz's  first  '  love-affair.'  " 

Madame  d'Agoult  left  Paris  again  for  Nice,  and 
her  departure  in  the  midst  of  my  conjugal  troubles 
gave  me  greater  pain  than  I  had  felt  even  the  pre- 
ceding year,  although  she  left  me  Jules  Grevy  to 

[320] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


support  me  in  my  difficulties.  Arles-Dufour,  in 
the  absence  of  Madame  d'Agoult,  was  my  great 
solace.  Jules  Grevy  prevailed  on  him  to  try  and 
win  my  father  over,  who  opposed  my  request  for 
separation,  declaring  with  a  stubbornness  alto- 
gether inexplicable,  if  one  judged  him  by  his 
advanced  opinions,  and  not  by  his  antiquated 
provincial  ideas,  that  he  would  never  admit  "  a 
scandal  "  in  the  life  of  his  daughter. 

On  the  point  of  leaving  for  Chauny  with  this 
object,  Arles-Dufour  said  to  me: 

"  Your  father  is,  then,  a  believer  in  association, 
a  phalansterian,  in  short?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  The  disciples  of  Fourier  have  ideas  as  liberal 
as  ours  respecting  marriage  with  an  unworthy 
partner." 

"  My  father  believes  in  all  the  social  ideas  of 
Fourierism,  but  accepts  none  of  its  formulas,  which, 
in  his  dread,  he  classes  together  under  the  general 
heading  of  '  inordinate  love  of  change.'  Each 
time  I  take  leave  of  him  to  go  to  Paris  he  never 
fails  to  give  me  this  parting  advice :  '  Mind  you  do 
not  allow  yourself  to  be  tempted  by  the  dishonour- 
able lies  of  this  butterfly  "  passion  for  change," 
by  which  he  means  the  desertion  of  home,  whatever 
that  home  may  be." 

[321] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  But  what  if  society  accepted  the  phalanste- 
rian  idea?  " 

"  My  father  says  that  society  dips  into  all  sys- 
tems, whether  philosophic  or  moral,  and  never  ac- 
cepts any  one  creed  in  its  entirety,  but  only  ex- 
tracts from  each  what  it  can  assimilate,  which  is 
invariably  in  the  direction  of  all  the  most  moral  in 
the  ethics  of  the  system." 

"  Well,  there  is  some  truth  in  this." 

"  Then,  again,  my  good  father  is  ever  haunted 
by  the  idea  that  any  departure  from  the  established 
conventions  of  conjugal  life  becomes  at  once 
the  subject-matter  for  some  '  novel.'  This  word 
'  novel,'  recalling  to  his  mind  the  ideas  and  errors 
of  judgment  of  my  grandmother,  puts  him  beside 
himself." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  whether  the  '  eccentric  fel- 
low '  will  succeed  in  this  as  in  other  enterprises." 

Arles-Dufour  described  to  my  father  all  the 
sorrow  and  trouble  I  had  kept  secret  from  him 
for  so  long.  He  told  him  the  struggle  was  telling 
on  my  health,  and  pointed  out  the  imminent  danger 
of  a  young  and  pretty  woman  in  Paris,  unhappily 
married,  becoming  the  subject-matter  for  some 
romantic  story.  He  then  outlined  for  my  father 
what  ought  to  be  "  his  future  line  of  conduct,"  as 
he  termed  it,  with  regard  to  his  child.     He  im- 

[322] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


pressed  upon  him  the  necessity  of  devoting  his  life 
to  her  in  the  measure  required  by  the  serious  situa- 
tion created. 

"  If  you  have  not  courage  enough  to  become  the 
real  father  you  ought  to  be,  if  your  love  for  her 
is  not  sufficiently  strong  to  champion  her  cause, 
then,"  said  Arles-Dufour,  "  I  myself  will  take 
charge  of  her.  My  wife  shall  be  a  mother  to  her, 
and  my  children  shall  look  upon  her  as  their  sister." 

Once  again  the  "  eccentric  one  "  succeeded  by 
his  kindness,  and  by  his  summary  method  of  up- 
setting all  specious  arguments,  and  by  his  way  of 
assuming  a  personal  responsibility  in  the  event  of 
the  cause  being  in  jeopardy.  My  father  inter- 
preted in  the  right  spirit  this  form  of  paternal 
devotion.  He  was  quite  prepared  after  a  few 
hours  of  contact  with  the  best  of  men,  the  kindest 
of  friends,  to  unite  himself  with  me  in  defending 
my  rights  and  to  follow  me  wherever  it  became 
necessary  to  champion  my  cause.  My  mother  also, 
conscious  of  the  wrong  she  had  done  me,  thanks 
to  a  short  lecture  from  Arles-Dufour,  felt  happy 
in  being  relieved  from  that  powerlessness  to  act. 

The  "  father  "  had  worked  a  miracle.  At  my 
advent  at  Chauny  I  found  courage  and  serenity 
in  my  relatives.  For  the  first  time  in  their  lives 
they  were  perfectly  in  harmony  as  to  the  end  to 

[323] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


be  attained.  Even  my  little  Alice,  whose  mind 
was  alert  from  the  many  scenes  she  had  witnessed, 
appeared  to  understand  what  every  one  endeav- 
oured to  conceal  from  her,  for  she  said  to  me: 

"  The  old  gentleman  with  white  hair  came  to 
see  us.     He  is  a  '  good  genius.'  " 

How  often  in  our  conversation  did  my  parents 
and  myself  repeat  these  words ! 

Madame  d'Agoult,  to  whom  I  wrote  the  good 
news  of  the  wonderful  change  wrought  by  my  dear 
friend  Aries,  answered  how  much  she  rejoiced  to 
hear  such  tidings,  and  she  added :  "  Work  away, 
little  Juliette.  Send  me  the  proofs  of  your  Man- 
darin to  look  over,  and  as  soon  as  it  is  finished  start 
something  new.  To  place  it  will  be  easy,  and  it 
will  enable  you  to  earn  a  little  money.  Your  dig- 
nity demands  you  should  not  be  entirely  dependent 
on  your  family." 

Madame  d'Agoult  then  mentioned  Madame 
Ackermann  again.  "  From  her  loftily  perched 
house,"  she  wrote  me,  "  the  view  is  superb.  But 
whenever  the  moon  casts  its  pale  harmony  over  the 
agitated  deep,  or  whenever  daylight  envelops  in- 
finity with  its  azure  mantle,  then  she  breaks  out 
into  a  spirit  of  blasphemy  and  bewails  the  isolation 
of  man.  And  yet  this  woman  is  a  great  artist. 
She  has  drunk  deep  of  the  secrets  of  rhythm  from 

[324] 


A    CRISIS    IN    MY    LIFE 


the  traditional  sources.  Her  verse  has  all  the  ele- 
gance of  form  and  of  beauty  resulting  from  words 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  image  depicted.  But 
at  the  same  time  one  is  conscious  that  she  feels 
nothing  but  anger.  Neither  love  nor  motherhood 
has  ever  dissolved  into  joy  or  into  pain  this  heart 
of  adamant  eternally  irritated.  The  divine  has 
never  cast  its  benign  influence  on  this  agitated  soul. 
I  often  find  myself  telling  her :  '  You  are  a  monster 
of  ingratitude.  You  are  the  exponent  of  an  art. 
You  live  in  the  midst  of  the  most  beautiful  scenery 
in  the  world,  and  yet  you  never  cease  finding  fault 
with  life.' 

"  It  is  true  she  is  common  and  even  ugly  in 
appearance.  Her  forehead  is  too  broad,  and  her 
face,  all  right  angles  and,  as  it  were,  masculinized 
by  thought  which  is  ever  combative,  is  not  exactly 
attractive  at  first  sight.  Abrupt,  peremptory  in 
her  speech,  she  can  be  rude  if  she  is  displeased,  and 
does  not  hesitate  to  give  immediate  expression  to 
her  irritation.  With  unfeigned  contempt  she  wit- 
nesses two  women  in  conversation,  and  her  disgust 
is  intense  should  they  embrace.  She  puts  up  with 
me  because  I  can  speak  German,  and  to  Madame 
Ackermann  the  only  art,  the  only  science,  the  only 
literature,  the  only  letters,  the  only  philosophy,  is 
the  German.  Her  curiosity  is  only  aroused  by 
young    brains    and    their    evolution.      She    takes 

[  325  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


greater  pride  in  provoking  admiration  from  young 
people  on  account  of  her  knowledge  than  in  aston- 
ishing them  on  account  of  her  revolts." 

As  Chauny  was  on  the  road  to  Brussels,  my 
cousin  Vilbort  paid  me  a  flying  visit  as  she  was 
passing  through  on  her  way  there  the  very  next 
day  after  my  arrival  home.  I  could  not  see  her 
at  the  time  of  my  departure,  and  she  was  anxious 
about  me.  I  told  her  all  I  could  of  my  semi- 
reconquered  liberty.  She  was  perfectly  charming 
to  me  and  to  my  circle. 

My  father  wrote  to  Grevy  and  thanked  him 
warmly  for  having  championed  the  cause  of  his 
unhappy  daughter.  He  was  thankful,  he  added, 
"  to  find  her  case  in  the  hands  of  the  most  honoured 
among  Republicans."  My  father  concluded  by 
saying  he  had  no  doubt  that  "  a  counsel  of  the 
great  reputation  of  Monsieur  Grevy,  in  possession 
of  the  proofs  mentioned  to  him  by  Arles-Dufour, 
would  find  no  difficulty  in  removing  as  soon  as 
possible  out  of  my  life  a  man  who  had  made  it  so 
hopelessly  wretched." 

So  the  days  passed.  I  continued  my  work.  My 
great  distraction  was  to  be  present  at  the  lessons 
given  by  father  to  my  little  girl.  He  was  a  won- 
derful educator,  but  he  was  not  so  exacting  with 
her  as  he  had  been  with  me  in  my  early  lessons. 

[326] 


SJJJ. 


CHAPTER    XIV 


POLITICS ART MUSIC 


riilHAT  disturbed  the  balance  of  my  father- — 
lAl  and,  truth  to  tell,  this  was  not  difficult  to 
do — was  what  was  termed  the  "  constitutional 
Opposition,"  the  Liberal  Empire. 

"  These  words,  which  howl  to  be  placed  to- 
gether," he  said,  "  make  me  see  all  in  red." 

It  requires  but  little  imagination  to  picture  how 
he  received  the  decrees  which  accorded  to  the  Sen- 
ate and  to  the  Legislature  the  vote  of  an  address, 
and  the  publication  of  the  debates  in  extenso, 
briefly  what  is  called  the  Decree  of  the  24th 
November. 

"  This  Liberal  comedy,"  he  said,  "  exasperates 
me  far  more  than  the  Imperial  tyranny." 

In  writing  to  de  Ronchaud,  who  frequently  met 
Hippolyte  Carnot,  I  requested  him  to  repeat  to 
Carnot  what  had  been  said  about  him  by  Renouvier. 
"  I  know  no  man  more  endowed  with  real  sapience 
— the  product  of  knowledge  and  wisdom — than 
Hippolyte  Carnot.  Never  have  I  heard  him  give 
expression  to  a  single  trite  or  commonplace 
thought." 

[327] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  My  dear  friend,"  wrote  de  Ronchaud  in  reply 
to  me,  "  I  am  not  sending  you  a  letter,  but  a 
volume.  I  am  convinced  you  will  read  it  without 
complaining  of  its  inordinate  length.  I  was  last 
night  at  that  mysterious  agape  at  Girardin's  which 
we  call  the  dinner  to  Madame  d'Agoult.  Nobody 
is  invited  but  Tribert,  Littre,  Carnot  and  myself. 
We  assemble  in  the  absence  of  our  dear  and  noble 
friend  and  talk  about  her.  I  forward  to  her  the 
report  of  the  evening's  proceedings.  .This  time 
the  honours  of  the  evening  were  for  you,  and 
Madame  d'Agoult  will  gently  pardon  the  trans- 
gression. We  were  but  three  the  evening  before 
last,  Girardin,  Carnot  and  myself. 

"  I  first  began  by  telling  Carnot  the  words  you 
had  heard  from  Renouvier,  and  that  you  charged 
me  to  report  them  to  him ;  but  I  added : 

"  '  I  really  find  Renouvier  a  vile  flatterer.  To 
possess  your  qualities,  my  dear  Carnot,  you  had 
only  to  be  born  and  to  inherit  all  that  your  father 
had  in  superabundance.  Could  the  son  of  the 
Organizer  of  Victory  possibly  be  different  from 
what  he  is?  Or  better  still,  as  you  cannot  assim- 
ilate into  yourself  all  your  father  has  bequeathed 
you,  there  must  remain  a  goodly  portion  for  your 
eldest  son,  Sadi,  who,  I  make  bold  to  say,  will  one 
day   be  right  worthy   to   carry   the   name   of  his 

[328] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


grandfather  and  to  perpetuate  his  father's  noble- 
ness of  heart.  "  All  beautiful  things  are  arranged 
in  triads,"  said  the  Greeks.'  " 

(At  a  later  date  I  read  to  Sadi  Carnot,  when 
Minister  of  Finance,  these  words  from  de  Ron- 
chaud's  letter.  He  knew  of  the  prediction;  his 
father  had  repeated  the  words  to  him  when  he 
passed  out  first  from  the  Ecole  Poly  technique. ) 

De  Ronchaud  continued: 

"  I  asked  Carnot  where  he  had  first  met  Renou- 
vier,  and  he  answered :  '  When  I  was  minister  in 
1848  I  was  so  ingenuous  as  to  be  capable  of  believ- 
ing that  it  was  my  duty  to  improve  and  ameliorate, 
to  reform  and  even  to  revolutionize  a  little,  and 
that  we  ought  to  give  every  possible  opportunity 
to  the  men  of  progress,  assuring  ourselves,  of 
course,  that  such  men  are  properly  balanced.  I 
made  a  study  of  the  administrative  machine  piece 
by  piece,  and  the  forcible  and  logical  conclusion  I 
arrived  at  was  the  absolute  necessity  of  revising 
the  educational  programme,  suppressing  what  was 
out  of  date,  in  fine,  trying  new  experiments  and 
considering  the  best  means  to  form  the  civic  char- 
acter of  the  rising  generation,  so  as  to  bring  such 
character  into  harmony  with  the  instincts  of  our 
race,  our  history,  and  patriotic  ideal,  without 
losing   touch   with   the    modern   requirements    for 

[329] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


action  and  with  the  necessity  of  practical  knowl- 
edge for  life's  battle.  I  asked  Renouvier,  who  was 
at  this  time  a  ministerial  secretary  and  had  given 
signs  of  exceptional  ability,  to  draw  me  up  a  man- 
ual of  education  embodying  the  leading  principles 
just  enumerated.  A  few  weeks  later  he  handed 
me  a  perfect  masterpiece.  My  desire  was  to  scatter 
immediately  far  and  wide  this  useful  manual;  but, 
would  you  believe  it,  I  discovered  in  my  colleagues 
and  in  the  National  Assembly  a  spirit  of  official 
red-tapeism  and  a  narrowness  of  vision  well-nigh 
inconceivable?  My  best  friends  forsook  me,  de- 
claring me  too  daring.  Nobody  reading  to-day 
Renouvier's  Manual  could  believe  that  the  men  of 
184-8  refused  to  make  its  principles  the  moral 
basis  of  Republican  education.' 

"  My  dear  friend,"  continued  de  Ronchaud,  "  as 
it  was  your  compliment  of  Renouvier  respecting 
Carnot  that  started  this  conversation,  and  as  I 
am  sure  the  sequel  will  interest  you,  I  send  you 
the  full  report.  The  unhappy  exile  at  Chauny 
can  imagine  she  is  still  in  the  midst  of  her  friends, 
listening  to  them  discoursing: 

"  *  Revolutionaries  have  never  carried  great  re- 
forms,' said  Girardin.  *  Look  in  England.  The 
Whigs  propose  and  the  Tories  dispose.  Could 
you,  Carnot,  President  of  the  Council,  have  pro- 

[330] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


posed  in  1848  a  reform  of  the  magnitude  and  im- 
portance of  Sir  Robert  Peel's,  the  abolition  of  par- 
liamentary disqualifications;  in  other  words,  the 
vote  of  commercial  liberty  ?  Could  any  one  of  your 
party  under  a  Republican  Government  have  signed 
a  Commercial  Treaty  with  England  and  decreed 
free  trade,  as  the  Emperor  has  done  ? ' 

"  '  Well,  there  are  some  compensations,  at  any 
rate,'  said  Carnot.  '  The  Republic  would  never 
have  declared  war  on  China,  nor  have  allowed  the 
soldiers  to  be  complimented  for  looting  the  Sum- 
mer Palace.' 

"  '  Well,  you  know  "  imperial  corruption  "  must 
filter  away  somewhere,'  said  Girardin.  '  We  are 
all  rotten,  that  we  are  agreed  upon.  I  have  my- 
self written  to  Admiral  Couperent-Desbois  to  bring 
me  back  my  small  share  of  the  loot.' 

"  '  You,  Girardin,  are  one  of  the  guiltiest,  with 
your  alternatives  of  opposition  and  rallying,' 
continued  Carnot.  '  You  have  a  taste  for  elegant 
and  high  seasoning  that  Morny  delights  in.  You 
have  a  weakness  for  the  somewhat  shady  intriguers 
of  public  opinion,  and  are  not  averse  to  those  who 
pull  the  strings  of  financial  operations.  Imperial 
corruption  and  the  morals  it  engenders  have  alone 
enabled  Jewish  financiers  to  buy  up  your  news- 
papers, and,  like  Millaud,  to  marry  their  daughters 
22  [  331  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


to  princes,  to  have  streets  named  after  them,  like 
Mires.  Can  we  not  grasp  the  fact  that  their 
exceptional  and  particular  merit  is  to  dupe?  ' 

"  '  Then  they  will  go  to  prison,  just  like  others.' 

"  '  Because  richer  and  more  powerful  men  than 
they  will  insist  upon  it.' 

"'What,  are  you  not  satisfied?'  exclaimed 
Girardin.  '  You  are  really  not  rating  at  its 
proper  value  "  brazen-face  corruption."  All  the 
satirists  are  on  your  side.  The  stage  is  replete 
with  pieces  dealing  with  the  successful  theme  of 
money  and  its  influence,  and  the  stock-jobbing  cal- 
culators and  business  generally  are  feeling  the 
effect  of  the  spirit  abroad. 

"  '  Everything  went  wrong  up  till  now  for  the 
want  of  a  safety-valve.  Each  volume  of  steam 
became  concentrated  and  threatened  everywhere  to 
blow  the  vessel  to  atoms.  But  here  are  your  de- 
crees. We  shall  now  be  able  to  hear  the  hissing 
of  the  rushing  steam  through  its  proper  outlet. 
You  were  speaking  of  de  Morny  just  now  with 
contempt,  my  dear  Carnot.  Yes,  I  am  aware  he 
is  responsible  for  the  Second  of  December,  which 
drove  me  and  my  friends  into  exile.  But  de 
Morny  to-day  clearly  recognises  that  we  need  a 
liberal  government.  He  is  forever  repeating  to 
us,  the  wise  and  the  prescient  ones,  that  we  must 

[332] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


win  liberty  by  pacific  means,  without  struggles  and 
without  a  fatal  reaction.  "  Liberty,"  he  says, 
"  acquired  through  a  revolution,  is  always  abused 
and  then  restricted." 

"  '  I  tell  you  in  all  truth  and  sincerity,'  added 
Girardin,  '  liberty  conceded  by  tyranny  is  the  best 
of  all.' 

"  '  Since  you  instance  de  Morny,  the  freest  of 
Imperialists,'  replied  Carnot,  '  I  will  cite  you 
Challemel-Lacour,  the  broadest  of  Republicans. 
"  In  all  sincerity,"  he  says,  "  I  admire  these  assas- 
sins who  mean  to  acquire  profit  by  the  resurrection 
of  the  murdered.  The  Empire  can  never  give  us 
liberty,  but  it  will  give  us  a  senseless  and  constant 
warfare,  ending  in  final  invasion."  And  to  these 
imprecations  of  Challemel,'  said  Carnot,  *  I  will 
add  that  the  Empire  implies  that  utter  demoraliza- 
tion will  be  the  heritage  of  the  succeeding  Govern- 
ment, for  from  a  fallen  foe  we  can  even  inherit, 
were  it  but  the  ground  on  which  we  have  just 
fought.' 

"  '  Are  you  strong  enough  to  overthrow  the  Em- 
pire by  yourself,  Carnot,  or  even  in  alliance  with 
Ronchaud  and  with  the  remnant  of  Republicans 
but  a  thousand  strong?  You  cannot  hope  to  do 
so,  can  you?  For  my  own  part,  I  would  rather 
rot    away    than    grow    mouldy.     To    enjoy    this 

[333] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


liberty  I  follow  the  example  set  by  Ollivier,  I  am 
in  complete  agreement  with  de  Morny,  who  alone 
is  strong  enough  to  wrench  this  liberty  from  the 
Emperor.  He  is  the  cleverest,  the  most  valiant, 
and  the  most  politic  of  all  those  who  surround  the 
Imperial  throne.' 

"  '  Why,  of  course,'  said  Carnot,  '  Napoleon  III 
is  in  a  tight  corner,  both  as  regards  home  and 
foreign  politics  and  finance.  He  now  sees  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  making  the  Chambers  share  his 
responsibility  with  him,  and  to  palliate  his  misdeeds 
by  compromising  the  most  honest  and  upright 
party  that  has  ever  existed,  the  party  of  1848. 
Thanks  to  Ollivier,  we  are  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the 
attack.  Is  it  not  a  standing  disgrace  to  hear  the 
son  of  one  of  the  proscribed  patriots  of  the  Second 
of  December  inviting  Napoleon  III  to  become 
"  the  initiator  of  French  liberties  " — he  who  has 
drowned  these  liberties  in  a  sea  of  blood?  Is  it 
not  revolting  to  witness  one  of  our  noble  party 
decreeing  to  the  man  of  Strasburg  and  of  Bou- 
logne the  title  of "  Legendary  Hero,"  and  to 
praise  him  publicly  for  his  "  generosity  "  ?  The 
humiliation  for  the  party  to  which  Emile  Ollivier 
belongs  is  far  too  cruel.  "  The  initiator  of  liber- 
ties," a  Napoleon  III,  a  de  Morny,  a  Prince  Napo- 
leon are  angling  in  troubled  waters.    Is  the  rumour 

[334] 


rOLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


to  be  trusted,  Girardin,  which  asserts  that  your 
Prince  is  about  to  start  a  new  paper  with  the  title 
of  Humanity?  Nothing  less  comprehensive  than 
this.  It  seems  that  Ollivier  cozens  your  Emperor 
into  the  belief  that  the  dawn  of  reconciliation  of 
all  parties  is  just  beginning  and  that  peace  is  to 
reign  in  France.   .   .   .' 

"  '  And  don't  you  find  it  quite  natural,'  replied 
Girardin,  half  in  earnest,  '  that  Emile  Ollivier 
should  be  predestined  to  make  the  presentation  of 
the  olive-branch  the  symbol  of  peace?  However 
you  may  deplore  the  fact,  he  is  the  man  of  the 
hour,  and  youthful  talents  group  themselves  about 
him  in  gay  procession.   .   .   .' 

"  '  Except,  of  course,  those  who  keep  away.  To 
me  Ollivier  lias  outrageous  ambition  but  mediocre 
attainments.  Your  Emperor  is  mediocre;  your 
Prince  Napoleon  is  mediocre.' 

"  '  I  take  exception  to  the  last-mentioned,'  cried 
Girardin.  '  To  him  it  is  owing  that  France  has 
shaken  off  her  dumbness.  "  We  must  have  initia- 
tive, initiative,"  says  Prince  Napoleon  every  day. 
"  There  is  nothing  like  it,  and  we  must  develop  it 
by  all  possible  means.  Initiative  is  the  safety- 
valve."  He  is  like  me  in  his  insistence  on  a  safety- 
valve.  Initiative  is  the  solid  foundation  of  all  polit- 
ical systems  for  the  aggrandizement  of  a  country. 

[335] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Are  such  words  those  of  your  average  mediocre 
man?  As  to  Emile  Ollivier,  he  is  a  splendid  diplo- 
mat, as  he  was  splendid  in  courage  in  1848  at  Mar- 
seilles. Your  Edmond  Adam,  your  Bixio,  assault- 
ing barricades,  cane  in  hand,  are  raw  recruits  in 
comparison  with  Ollivier  driving  a  revolted  crowd 
into  the  Town  Hall  and  alone  haranguing  them 
and  breaking  them  up.' 

"  '  What  is  this  story  ?  '  queried  Carnot.  '  Why, 
he  ran  away  from  the  crowd  like  a  hunted  hare.' 

"  '  At  all  events,  you,  the  active  spirits  of  1848, 
considered  yourselves  powerless,  since  you  only 
dared  to  face  .   .   .  abstention.' 

"  This  document,"  interrupted  de  Ronchaud, 
"  is  the  best  offering  I  can  make  you  at  the  ap- 
proaching festive  season.  Girardin  and  Carnot 
have  revised  the  text,  as  you  can  verify  by  looking 
at  the  words  they  have  either  deleted  or  altered. 

"  They  are  quite  aware  that  in  your  eyes  this 
document  represents  a  '  turning-point '  in  Im- 
perial history.  My  opinion  is  that  a  discussion 
between  the  two  men  who  represent  the  two  oppo- 
site and  extreme  currents  of  public  opinion  should 
find  a  pigeon-hole  in  your  archives.  You  are  the 
youngest  of  us  all.  You  therefore  may  derive  the 
most  benefit  in  the  future  from  the  exposition  of 
these  ideas.     May  my  wish  be  realized. 

[336] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


"  As  you  know,  you  are  a  favourite  with  all  of 
us.     Girardin  calls  you  '  the  universally  beloved.' 

"  I  kiss  your  hand  in  respectful  homage. 

(Signed)      "  De  Ronchaud." 

This  "  memoir  "  has  preserved  for  me,  and  per- 
haps also  for  those  who  may  chance  to  read  it,  an 
interest  of  living  actuality. 

All  the  letters  I  received  at  this  period  were  in- 
teresting as  manifestations  of  opinion,  although 
they  somewhat  disconcerted  my  father.  However, 
little  by  little,  he  was  growing  accustomed  to  my 
manner  of  life.  I  realized  that  by  detaching  him 
from  his  rather  narrow  and  circumscribed  sphere 
of  ideas  he  would  suffer  less. 

Carnot  mentioned  to  Eugene  Pelletan  his  long 
discussion  with  Girardin,  and  told  him  of  the  "  re- 
port "  forwarded  me  by  de  Ronchaud. 

"  A  better  Liberal  than  I  am  does  not  exist," 
Pelletan  wrote  me ;  "  but  I  must  confess  I  am  on 
my  guard  against  what  I  term  the  '  pluralities  ' 
of  liberty.  Liberty  to  do  this,  liberty  to  do  that, 
are  implied  by  connotation  in  real  liberty  wherever 
it  may  thrive.  The  Empire  can  only  give  us 
liberties.  Ollivier  has  begun  at  the  wrong  end ;  he 
believes,  or  pretends  to  believe,  that  he  can  glide 
himself  into  power  with  the  help  of  this  shibboleth, 
and  that  liberties  added  to  liberties  will  yield  a 

[337] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


grand  total  of  actual  liberty.  I  deny  this.  Such 
process  of  addition  can  only  create  a  political  con- 
dition best  defined  under  the  name  of  imperial  liber- 
alism. You  understand  what  I  say — Imperial.  The 
liberal  Empire  would  be  quite  another  thing,  and 
would  imply  the  Empire  becoming  liberal,  and  not 
liberty  becoming  Imperial.  I  should  welcome  such 
a  state  of  things,  because  it  would  mean  a  forward 
march,  which  sooner  or  later,  one  fine  day,  would 
drag  the  Empire  down  into  the  bottomless  pit. 

"  The  actual  state  of  politics,  my  dear  friend, 
with  its  imperceptible  bright  spot,  bids  us  fight 
on  the  harder,  using  as  our  weapons  the  press, 
books,  and  free  speech,  and  especially  the  latter, 
which  demands  from  the  speaker  loyalty,  convic- 
tion, and  faith  in  the  good  to  be  achieved." 

On  his  way  to  Brussels  Hetzel  brought  me  the 
first  copy  of  my  Mandarin.  He  told  me  he  had 
given  it  a  good  send-off,  and  that  it  was  certain  of 
success  on  account  of  its  anonymous  characters, 
whose  personalities  and  names  were  easily  dis- 
tinguishable. 

He  brought  me  much  news.  The  first  repre- 
sentation of  Emile  Augier's  Effrontes  had  been  a 
great  success.  He  had  met  Sarcey  at  the  theatre, 
who  begged  to  be  kindly  remembered  to  me.  He 
commissioned  Hetzel  to  bid  me  to  look  out  for  his 

[338] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


next  criticism,  which  would  be  "  extremely  good  " 
and  would  give  me  a  very  complete  idea  of  the  play, 
"  just  as  if  I  had  been  there  myself." 

The  day  before  Hetzel  had  breakfasted  with 
Toussenel  at  the  restaurant  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  du  Bac.  Toussenel  had  charged  him  to 
kiss — my  hand.  Coubet  was  present  at  the  break- 
fast, and  they  had  fought.  Toussenel  had  begged 
Hetzel  to  repeat  to  me  a  phrase  of  Mires  which 
was  going  round: 

"  If  France  is  so  slow  in  blotting  out  the  action 
of  the  Rothschilds,  in  fifty  years'  time  she  will  have 
no  more  rope  left  with  which  to  hang  herself." 

Toussenel  would  certainly  come  and  pay  me 
his  respects,  said  Hetzel,  if  my  father  invited  him. 

"  I  will  do  so  this  very  day,"  said  my  father. 

Hetzel  brought  for  my  little  Alice  all  the  imag- 
inable Mademoiselles  Lilis.  She  advised  him  to  go 
on  publishing  many  such  books,  and  that  she  would 
be  always  pleased  to  accept  them  as  presents. 

"  Little  rosebud,"  Hetzel  said,  "  you  will  be  very 
pretty  in  ten  years'  time.     I  predict  it." 

In  one  morning  Hetzel  had  made  the  conquest 
of  my  father  and  mother,  which  was  no  slight  task, 
and  had  completely  won  my  little  Alice  by  the  easy 
help  of  Mademoiselle  Lili. 

Hetzel  had  an  especial  and  particular  communi- 

[339] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


cation  to  make  me,  which  greatly  moved  me.  It 
was  a  communication  from  George  Sand  in  a  letter 
addressed  by  her  to  Hetzel.  She  knew  he  was 
coming  to  see  me,  and  wished  him  to  read  me  the 
letter.  George  Sand  "  was  anxious  that  the  kind 
heart  which  had  taken  up  her  defence  should  not 
be  left  under  the  impression  created  by  the  mali- 
cious and  venomous  things  said  about  her  since  the 
publication  of  Elle  et  Lui."  The  letter  was  a 
splendid  piece  of  sincere  revolt.  She  spoke  of  the 
necessity  of  publishing  Musset's  letters,  and  she 
terminated  a  long  defence  with  these  words :  "  The 
letters  of  Alfred  will  prove  what  I  have  said  a 
hundred  times  over,  that  I  never  encouraged  a 
nascent  love  in  a  dying  man.  I  have  never  deceived 
any  one  in  my  life.  Cruel  I  may  have  been,  but 
never  hypocritical,  treacherous,  or  wicked.  I  abso- 
lutely refuse  to  believe  that,  even  when  utterly 
demoralized  by  vice,  he  could  ever  have  said  what 
my  enemies  make  him  say." 

"  I  can  bear  witness,"  said  Hetzel,  "  that  de 
Musset  never  lied  about  her  as  they  make  him  lie. 
We  were  very  old  friends.  I  often  used  to  ques- 
tion him  about  Madame  Sand;  I  wanted  to  find 
out  what  he  thought  about  her,  to  read  right  into 
the  depths  of  his  soul.  Twenty  times  I  must  have 
mentioned  the  subject  to  him,  and  often  when  he 

[340] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


was  in  his  cups,  and  at  such  times  in  the  company 
of  men  it  is  but  natural  to  boast  in  confidence  of 
one's  conquests.  '  No,  no,  not  a  word  about 
George;  drop  the  subject,'  was  his  constant  reply. 
On  one  occasion,  at  one  in  the  morning,  Rue  de 
Grammont,  I  came  across  de  Musset  overcome  by 
drink  and  sitting  on  the  step  of  a  house.  He  was 
pitying  himself.  'What  are  you  doing  here?'  I 
asked  him,  attempting  to  raise  him. 

"  '  They  have  ejected  me,  ejected  me,'  he  re- 
peated, with  the  maudlin  whine  of  the  drunken 
man. 

"  '  It  is  always  women,  my  poor  fellow ! '  I  said, 
dragging  him  along  the  boulevard,  where  I  hailed 
a  cab. 

" '  I  want  some  supper.  I  am  hungry  and 
thirsty,'  he  exclaimed,  when  barely  seated  in  the 
cab.  He  then  set  up  such  a  howl  that  I  was  com- 
pelled to  stop  the  cab  at  the  first  restaurant. 

"  '  I  will  give  you  supper  and  wine,'  I  said, 
pushing  him  into  a  private  room,  '  on  the  sole  con- 
dition you  talk  about  Venice.' 

"  '  I  will  tell  you  everything,  but  give  me  some- 
thing to  drink.'  While  he  was  drinking  I  put 
some  abrupt  and  searching  questions  to  him. 

"  '  It  is  all  a  hoax,  George  never  loved  you.  At 
Venice  she  dropped  you  at  once.' 

[341  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


u   i 


I  tell  you  she  did  love  me,'  he  replied,  in  a 
raucous  voice.  I  felt  positive  shame  in  hearing 
him  mention  the  name  of  Madame  Sand  in  such  a 
condition.  *  But,'  he  added,  '  it  was  her  head  that 
fell  in  love  with  my  head,  do  you  understand  ? ' 
He  laughed  an  idiotic  and  drunken  laugh. 

"  *  But  she  also  loved  you  with  her  heart,  un- 
fortunate man.' 

"  '  With  her  head ;  with  her  heart,  no,  it  was 
not  this.  She  did  not  want  me  to  look  upon  her 
with  such  desires  as  I  might  entertain  towards  an- 
other class  of  her  sex.  I  upbraided  her,  I  accused 
her  of  not  loving  me.  Her  reply  came  back  in 
gentle  and  soothing  words  which  only  maddened 
me  the  more.  I  could  have  killed  her;  do  you 
understand?  The  next  day  she  would  tell  me  I 
was  unworthy  the  love  of  a  good  woman,  and  that 
my  proper  place  was  in  the  abandoned  society  of 
the  meretricious.  I  could  not  help  acknowledging 
the  justice  of  her  reproaches,  and  then  we  would 
both  fall  a-weeping  at  my  shame.  Now  you  know 
all,  Hetzel ;  you  know  all ! ' 

"  As  I  was  de  Musset's  friend  I  mentioned  these 
confidential  confessions  only  to  Madame  Sand,  but 
since  the  appearance  of  Elle  et  Lui  I  feel  justified 
in  openly  discussing  this  delicate  question  with 
any  one  who  seeks  for  information  respecting  their 

[342] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


intimacy.  Those  who  accuse  her  are  despicable, 
for  she  bravely  concealed  by  her  love  what  I  for 
many  years  concealed  by  my  friendship,  the  degra- 
dation of  his  genius  through  vice." 

"  Hctzel,  please  repeat  this  again,  and  repeat 
it  incessantly,"  I  exclaimed.  "  They  may  blame 
Madame  Sand,  but  they  must  not  cast  aspersions 
upon  her.  I  feel  the  consciousness  of  her  thorough 
loyalty,  and,  if  I  may  use  the  term,  her  thorough 
manliness.  Please  inform  her  that  I  have  never 
once  suffered  her  to  be  accused  in  my  presence  of 
any  dishonouring  or  unworthy  act,  however 
slight." 

"  Write  this  yourself  to  her,  my  dear  child." 
I  wrote  to  George   Sand  what  I  had  said  to 
Hetzel. 


A  new  book  from  Proudhon's  pen,  La  Guerre 
et  la  Paix,  suggested  to  me  the  idea  of  bringing 
out  a  new  edition  of  my  Idees  Anti-Proudhon- 
iennes,  which  Dentu  was  pressing  me  to  do.  He 
had  now  withdrawn  the  title-page  of  the  last  edi- 
tion bearing  the  name  of  Monsieur  La  Messine,  and 
in  its  place  substituted  my  name.  For  this  new 
impression  I  wrote  an  important  preface,  justify- 
ing my  attack  on  the  fallacious  principles  postu- 
lated in  Proudhon's  book,  that  the  law  of  nations 

[343] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


was  summed  up  in  the  doctrine  that  "  might  is 
right,"  and  as  a  necessary  inference  from  such 
conclusion  the  denial  of  intelligence  to  weak 
women. 

My  energetic  and  indignant  refutation  found 
much  favour. 

My  good  friends,  Louis  Jourdan,  Charles 
Fauvety,  Vilbort,  Clement  Caraguel,  Eugene 
Pelletan,  Laurent  Pichat,  not  only  congratulated 
me,  but  in  the  papers  and  in  the  reviews  eulogized 
my  preface  in  most  flattering  terms.  My  second 
"  father,"  Arles-Dufour,  sent  me  an  exhaustive 
and  enthusiastic  memoir.  A  letter  from  Challemel- 
Lacour,  with  some  trifling  reservations,  was 
equally  commendatory  and  made  me  feel  very 
proud.  Challemel's  approbation  was  rare.  His 
reputation  fell  far  short  of  his  merit.  At  this 
period  he  made  no  attempt  to  curry  favour,  and 
yet  he  was  writing  in  all  the  leading  reviews,  Les 
Deux-Mondes,  Nationale,  Germanique,  and  had 
bestowed  on  each  one  extracts  from  his  beautiful 
translation  of  Ritter's  Philosophy,  which  he  now 
was  collecting  into  volumes.  Every  one  of  Challe- 
mel's articles  was  much  admired,  but,  strange  to 
say,  this  admiration  did  not  appear  to  be  cumula- 
tive. How  often  I  have  heard,  "  Read  Challemel's 
article;  it  is  simply  wonderful,  superb."     But  how 

[344] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


much  less  frequently  did  they  add,  "  Challemel  is 
a  writer  of  the  front  rank."  He  was  praised  in 
detail  only. 

The  case  was  not  the  same  with  Prevost-Paradol, 
who  was  a  familiar  figure  in  society,  much  courted 
and  lionized.  His  winsome  and  charming  person- 
ality doubly  increased  the  admiration  felt  for  his 
writings.  Those  who  mentioned  an  article  by 
Paradol  never  failed  to  add,  "  How  clever ;  he  is 
perfectly  unique  and  inimitable !  "  His  letters  in 
the  Courrier  du  Dimanche  were  marvellous  per- 
formances in  their  suggestive  appositeness, 
their  balanced  exuberance,  their  deftly  disguised 
irony,  and  their  cruelty  withal  so  imperceptible  in 
the  word,  but  which  corroded,  as  it  were,  into  the 
very  marrow  of  the  Imperial  Government  like  a 
powerful  and  colourless  acid.  To  understand  him 
it  was  necessary  to  collaborate  with  him,  for  the 
more  one  read  the  more  numerous  became  the  deli- 
cate and  oblique  inuendos.  One  could  not  mistake 
what  he  wished  to  say,  or  misunderstand  the  sub- 
ject of  his  allusion  or  of  his  invective.  To  read 
Paradol  was  to  set  out  on  a  long  voyage  of  explo- 
ration, and  how  great  were  the  discoveries  made ! 

When  in  the  August  of  1858  Monsieur  de 
Cesena  transformed  the  Semaine  Politique  into 
the  Courrier  du  Dimanche,  he  little  foresaw  that 

[345  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


his  paper  was  to  become  a  great  Liberal  tri- 
bunal. 

Edmond  Texier,  his  daughters,  Louis  Jourdan, 
de  Ronchaud,  Madame  de  Pierreclos,  the  Adam- 
Salomons,  whose  little  daughter,  a  friend  of  my 
Alice,  they  intrusted  to  my  care,  and  several  other 
of  my  intimate  friends,  came  and  spent  a  whole 
Sunday  at  Chauny.  It  was  a  most  enjoyable  day 
in  spite  of  the  weather,  which  prevented  our  going 
out ;  but  the  drawing-room  was  very  spacious ;  the 
conversation  was  spirited  and  clever,  and  they  aU 
relished  the  "  fat  delicacies  of  the  provincial  table," 
as  Madame  de  Pierreclos  called  them,  and  it  was 
evident  that  dulness  found  no  place  in  our  pleasant 
and  intellectual  circle.  Texier  started  the  ball  of 
conversation  rolling  with  some  interesting  anec- 
dotes about  Wagner's  base  and  black  ingratitude 
to  Monsieur  and  Madame  Charnace,  and,  in  fact, 
even  to  all  of  us,  who  had  taken  such  infinite 
trouble  in  placing  his  concert  tickets.  Wagner 
had  visited  none  of  his  old  friends  in  Republican 
quarters.  He  had  returned  to  Paris  under  the 
protecting  asgis  of  Madame  de  Metternich,  and  his 
Tannhauser  was  being  given  at  the  Opera  by 
order  of  the  Emperor. 

"  It  is  notorious,"  continued  Texier,  "  that  the 
wife  of  the  Austrian  Ambassador  holds  in  commis- 

[346] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


sion  from  her  Imperial  Highness  Eugenie  the  office 
of  Grand  Mistress  c2  Court  Functions  and  Cere- 
monies, but  we  still  have  to  learn  that  she  is  also 
Adviser  in  Art  to  Napoleon  III.  This  grand  and 
noble  lady,  whose  proud  boast  it  is  to  belong  to  a 
Court,  admittance  to  which  requires  at  least  eight 
quarters  on  the  aspirant's  escutcheon,  considers  it 
consonant  with  her  dignity  to  set  to  our  Court 
of  France  the  tone  of  a  music-hall.  When  people 
of  her  own  set  remonstrate  with  her,  asking  whether 
she  permits  these  '  Imperial '  manners  and  license 
in  Austria,  she  blandly  replies : 

"  '  There  is  the  same  distance  between  the  Hof- 
burg  and  the  Tuileries  as  there  is  between  the  Em- 
press Elizabeth  and  Mademoiselle  de  Monti  jo.' 

"  Madame  de  Metternich  has  two  and  widely 
different  tones,"  continued  Texier ;  "  one  for  Paris 
and  one  for  Vienna.  In  Paris  she  is  not  above  sing- 
ing light  and  comic  ditties,  and  decrees  that  at  her 
house  '  rigid  formality  '  is  but  for  '  form's  sake.' 
In  Vienna,  Princess  Metternich  only  allows  German 
classical  music,  and  under  this  heading  that  of 
Wagner  of  course.  It  may  be  asked  why  in  the 
world  she  is  so  keen  to  foist  these  compositions  upon 
us.  Has  she  grown  weary  of  amusing  herself  in 
France?  Has  it  dawned  upon  her  that  our  gaiety 
is  the  outward  sign  of  superiority  ?  " 
23  [  347  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Avoid  the  Rue  le  Pelletier  on  the  first  night 
of  Tannhauser.  Some  miscMef  is  brewing,"  said 
Louis  Jourdan. 

"  Berlioz  is  furious,"  added  de  Ronchaud,  "  as 
he  had  written  to  the  Emperor,  for  which  I  blame 
him,  asking  permission  to  produce  the  Troyens  for 
him,  a  Frenchman  of  Frenchmen." 

"  Under  the  Lower  Empire  the  Lower  Em- 
peror," solemnly  continued  Madame  de  Pierreclos, 
"  pampered  and  favoured  the  foreigners  who  flat- 
tered them  in  order  to  ruin  them.  I  make  you  a 
present  of  this  historical  discovery,  gentlemen  of 
the  press ;  please  examine  it  and  apply  it." 

Again  it  was  Madame  de  Pierreclos  who  in- 
formed me  I  had  just  had  the  honour  to  be  some- 
what roughly  handled  by  Monsieur  Barbey  d'Aure- 
villy,  a  second  Proudhon,  when  it  becomes  a  ques- 
tion of  women  writers. 

"  Who  can  tell  me  anything  about  Barbey 
d'Aurevilly  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  can,"  cried  Edmond  Texier,  from  the  far 
end  of  the  refreshment  table.  But  this  "  I  can  " 
of  his,  in  its  vibrating  energy,  squashed  a  pufF- 
cake,  and  the  contained  cream  inundated  his 
moustache. 

We  thoroughly  relished  his  predicament.  But 
Texier  was  quite  equal  to  the  occasion.     He  drank 

[348] 


rOLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


a  glass  of  water,  applied  a  tea-napkin  to  the  point 
in  distress,  folded  it  nimbly,  and  appeared  before 
us  relieved  of  his  creamy  deluge. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  began,  "  Monsieur 
Barbey  d'Aurevilly  is  the  enemy  of  womankind. 
Some  say  he  is  a  priest.  What  ?  No !  you  say.  Well, 
then,  if  he  is  not,  his  brother  must  be  a  priest.  Yes, 
just  listen  to  this  tender  sentence  of  the  scourge 
of  the  fair  sex: 

"  '  Women  are  still  in  quest  of  their  souls.'  " 

"  Well,  there  is  some  truth  in  this,"  we  all  pro- 
tested in  chorus. 

"  Here  is  another  phrase  of  Monsieur  Barbey 
d'Aurevilly : 

"  '  Our  fathers  were  wise  to  massacre  the  Hu- 
guenots, and  most  imprudent  not  to  do  the  same  to 
Luther.'  " 

"  I  echo  this  sentiment  also,"  said  Madame  de 
Pierreclos. 

We  once  more  protested. 

"  Barbey's  style  is  picturesque  and  imaginative, 
if  any  style  possesses  these  qualities.  There  is  not 
the  slightest  suspicion  of  dulness.  His  book,  Les 
CEuvres  et  les  Hommes,  is  not  the  production  of 
the  first  comer.  He  lashes  your  free-thinking  tribe 
with  no  light  flail.  Good  Catholic  as  he  is,  he  yet 
never  spares   Catholics ;  and   Jourdan,  who  keeps 

[349] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


silent,  has  often  been  heard  to  quote  Barbey 
against  Veuillot.  He  is  an  arch  sectary,  both  as 
writer  and  Catholic,  and  in  attacking  you,  Ma- 
dame, he  has  paid  you  a  very  high  compliment 
indeed.     He  must  have  smelled  the  pagan  in  you." 

I  was  really  glad  to  see  some  of  my  old  friends 
again. 

I  received  a  short  note  in  Italian  from  Madame 
la  Princesse  Belgiojoso: 

"  Dear  friend  of  my  beloved  country,  rejoice 
with  me  that  the  Senate  of  Turin  have  given  us  a 
King.  Victor  Emmanuel  is  to-day  King  of  our 
Italy.  When  will  he  be  so  at  Rome?  To-morrow, 
if  France  so  wished  it. 

"  Remembrances, 

"  Christine  de  Belgiojoso." 

Texier  had  promised  me  a  full  account  of  the 
first  representation  of  Tannhauser.  Here  is  his 
letter : 

"  On  the  great  night,  my  dear  friend,  what  a 
crush !  First  there  were  the  intimates  of  Madame 
de  Metternich  dispersed  with  intelligence  and  pro- 
fusion all  over  the  house.  I  am  unable  to  men- 
tion all  the  names  of  those  present,  but  among 
others  were  conspicuous  the  Countess  de  Pourtales, 

[  350  ] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


the  Princesses  Poniatowski,  De  Sagan  and  Solms, 
Countess  Waleska,  and  the  Marquise  de  Gallifet. 
Then  came  Madame  Lehon  and  de  Morny,  to  all 
appearance  ever  faithful;  Princesse  de  Beauveau 
and  Laurent  Pichat,  still  discreetly  smitten ;  Mad- 
emoiselle Erazzu,  the  lovely  Mexican;  Beyens, 
the  Marquis  de  Caux,  the  Rothschilds,  the  Agua- 
dos,  the  brothers  Lambertye,  the  melancholy  Mont- 
joy  eux,  General  Fleury,  Gallifet,  Massa,  Gram- 
mont-Caderousse,  d'Althon  Shee,  the  Emperor,  the 
Empress,  and  the  Court.  Have  I  left  out  any  ?  I 
must  not  omit  to  mention  the  whole  world  of  fair 
Aspasias  present  in  full  force. 

"  You  now  know  who  is  here  and  how  the  house 
is  arranged.  The  spirit  in  the  ascendant  is  some- 
what demoralizing  for  the  Philistines,  like  our- 
selves, who  mean  to  protest.  We  take  courage, 
however,  for  the  stalls  are  on  our  side.  Just  think 
of  it,  they  have  suppressed  the  ballet! 

"  Madame  de  Metternich  takes  her  seat  in  the 
front  of  her  box,  with  fan  in  hand.  She  is  to  lead 
the  plaudits,  attention ! 

"  Niemann-Tannhauser  makes  his  entry  with  a 
lyre  hung  on  his  arm  .  '  Why,  this  is  Orpheus  in 
Hades,'  exclaims  a  wit.  We  Philistines  take  ad- 
vantage of  this  ridiculous  comparison  heard  all 
over  the  house  to  raise  a  loud  and  unseemly  laugh. 

[351] 


\ 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Niemann  bears  all  the  evidence  of  being  ludicrous- 
ly embarrassed  by  his  lyre,  not  knowing  what  in 
the  world  to  do  with  it.  A  shepherd  with  his  pipe 
now  enters.  Tu !  tu !  tu !  But  where  has  the  lyre 
gone  to?  Oh,  here  it  is.  Then  comes  a  duet  of 
lyre  and  pipe,  the  divine  and  the  bucolic  in  strange 
medley.  At  this  juncture  a  hautboy  chimes  in  at 
a  distance.  The  whole  situation  is  delightfully 
amusing,  and  we  have  now  reached  the  stage  of 
utter  frivolity. 

"  But  suddenly  clashes  out  the  bang,  bang  of 
the  orchestra,  who  have  struck  up  the  march.  Here 
is  no  laughing  matter.  The  beautiful  is  always 
beautiful.  The  applause  is  universal,  and  I  must 
needs  follow  suit.  This  march  absolutely  gets  hold 
of  you.  I  am  still  humming  it  as  I  write,  ta-ta-ta- 
ta-ta. 

"  It  is  a  triumph  for  Madame  de  Metternich, 
and  we  are  furious. 

"  The  harps  now  made  their  appearance.  We 
then  witness  a  kind  of  march  past  of  various  instru- 
ments. Where  is  my  lyre?  Where  is  my  shep- 
herd's reed  and  the  hautboy?  At  this  moment 
Niemann-Tannhauser  enters  with  his  precious 
lyre.  It  was  consoling  to  be  assured  the  sacred 
instrument  was  safe!  A  gentle  cachinnation  is 
audible. 

[352] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


"  A  single  word  whistles  through  the  house  like 
the  crack  of  a  whip,  s  Fools ! ' 

"  The  qualification  is  Madame  de  Metternich's 
protest  at  our  levity,  and  we  wince  at  the  insult. 
Pent-up  emotion  was  strained  to  bursting  point, 
and  the  elegant  epithet  sounded  the  death-knell  to 
all  order.  Shouts  of  applause  or  of  disapproba- 
tion ring  from  boxes  to  orchestra  stalls,  and  are 
re-echoed  back  lustily  from  stalls  to  amphitheatre. 
Fragments  of  a  broken  fan  fall  on  my  head.  Ma- 
dame de  Metternich  has  crumpled  hers  into  ruins 
in  a  movement  of  anger. 

"  '  This  is  a  pretty  jest,'  said  Jules  Janin. 

" '  She  is  a  pretty  thorough  woman,  at  any 
rate,'  added  Scholl,  '  in  spite  of  her  not  being 
pretty.' 

"  During  the  interval  my  remark  found  much 
favour  in  the  green-room :  '  The  words  bore  me, 
and  the  music  wearies  me.' 

"  We  return.  This  time  marches  may  come,  and 
marches  may  go,  but  the  hullaballoo  has  set  in  for 
good,  and  there  is  no  stopping  it.  The  young 
ones  whistle,  and  the  old  ones  growl,  each  to  his 
heart's  content. 

"  We  fought  for  Berlioz,  and  you  were  not  in 
the  firing-line. 

"  As  for  him,  he  is  delighted. 

[353] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Wagner  has  done  better  work  than  this ;  why 
in  the  world  did  he  choose  Tannhauser?  The 
orchestra  is  perfectly  absurd  and  the  staging  gro- 
tesque to  a  degree ! 

"  Saint- Victor  shouts  to  him : 

"  '  Well,  Berlioz,  at  any  rate,  you  are  avenged. 
And  besides,'  he  adds,  '  can  a  German  appreciate 
Venus?  One  must  be  a  Greek  or  a  Latin  for  this. 
Can  we  on  our  part  appreciate  the  Niebelun- 
gen?  And  Saint- Victor  pronounces  this  word  in 
the  French  fashion. 

"  I  have  seen  all  the  criticisms,  and  I  do  not 
believe  there  is  a  single  favourable  one. 

"  It  was  a  great  evening,  my  dear  friend,  and 
proves  conclusively  a  foreign  lady  and  the  Em- 
peror cannot  decree  a  success  in  our  Paris. 

"  Greetings  from  all  to  all. 

"  Edmond  Texier." 

Challemel,  on  his  side,  also  wrote  me  that  "  Paris 
has  been  horrid  and  unfair  towards  Tannhauser." 
He  is  not  inconsolable,  however,  because  politics 
have  gained  by  Wagner's  failure.  It  has  shown 
Napoleon  III  that  opinion  can  still  be  passionate, 
and  that  it  but  needs  a  legitimate  excuse  to  cause 
ebullition.  Opinion  was  unanimous  that  Madame 
de  Metternich  bore  her  defeat  in  a  proud  and 
haughty  spirit.     The  daughter  of  Count  Sandor, 

[354] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


a  Hungarian  magnate,  whose  courage  and  temerity 
were  legendary,  she  faced  the  music  of  opinion  as 
befitted  one  so  nobly  sprung.  The  day  after  the 
Tannhauser  defeat  only  Wagner  was  played  at 
her  reception. 

De  Ronchaud  sent  me  a  note  with  these  simple 
words  only :  "  The  Hydrocephalic  one  bears  a 
hatred  for  France,  which  his  pride  will  render  as 
venomous  as  possible." 

The  Tannhauser  was  an  Imperial  defeat,  the 
Funerailles  de  l'Honneur  was  a  Republican  one. 
If  Souvent  Homme  Varie  had  been  inordinately 
and  out  of  all  proportion  applauded  in  order  to 
laud  Victor  Hugo  over  the  head  of  Vacquerie,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  Funerailles  de  l'Honneur  was 
in  the  same  way  unduly  and  exaggeratedly  cried 
down.  As  in  the  Tannhauser,  certain  scenes  of 
Vacquerie's  play  afforded  fair  opportunity  for 
mocking  and  noisy  demonstration,  which  the  Im- 
perialist Philistines  were  but  too  eager  to  turn  to 
advantage. 

The  letter  of  Madame  de  Pierreclos  on  the 
Funerailles  de  l'Honneur  began  thus: 

"  These  presents  will  render  an  account  to  Mis- 
tress Juliette  Lamber  of  the  unique  performance 
of  a  play  in  seven  acts,  to  all  appearance  dealing 
with  death,  though  in  reality  not  so,  and  treating 

[355] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


of  the  story  of  seven  bastard  brothers,  each  duller 
than  his  neighbour. 

"  Of  the  seven  brothers  of  Dom  Pedro  (please 
don't  forget  the  e  with  an  accent,  so  that  some 
importance  may  be  given  to  a  personage  who  is 
quite  deficient  in  this  qualification ) ,  if  you  do  not 
mind,  we  shall  say  nothing  about  them.  To  de- 
scribe these  gentlemen  seems  to  me  a  work  of 
supererogation,  as  the  only  apparent  interest  in 
them  lies  in  their  being  at  once  dramatically  use- 
less and  obstruent.  In  this  play  we  are  in  the  very 
thick  of  romanticism,  but  a  romanticism  in  the 
superlative  degree,  which  alone  the  verse  and  mel- 
ody of  Hugo  could  have  made  endurable.  At  a 
given  moment  Don  Yorge — and  why  not  the  more 
natural  and  prosaic  Gorge? — through  a  series  of 
events  I  will  not  trouble  to  relate,  as  they  cover 
the  inordinate  extent  of  seven  acts,  bids  the  Court 
be  present  at  his  obsequies  on  the  morrow  in  the 
cemetery  of  the  Capuchin  Friars  of  Saint  Barthol- 
omew. 

"  Here  we  are  in  the  next  day  and  at  the  ceme- 
tery. A  man  is  digging  a  grave  in  the  ground, 
while  a  funeral  procession  defiles  past  in  melancholy 
array,  chanting  the  office  for  the  burial  of  the 
dead  and  promenading  a  bier  about  covered  with 
a  blood-stained  pall,  which,  to  my  mind,  is  but  a 

[356] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


relative  sign  of  mourning,  but  which  I  must  per- 
force confess  to  be  emblematic  of  crime. 

"  Enter  the  King,  lover  of  Don  Yorge's  mother. 
He  seems  in  marvellous  spirits.  Already  father 
of  seven  bastards,  he  is  about  to  unite  himself  in 
unholy  wedlock  and  to  become  the  father  of  more. 

"  Don  Yorge  uncovers  the  bier.     It  is  empty. 

"  '  Where  is  the  body  ?  '  naturally  queries  the 
King. 

"  '  I  will  tell  you,'  replies  Don  Yorge.  '  You 
forgave  me.  I  am  disarmed  before  you.  But  the 
insult  is  indelible.  My  honour  is  dead,  and  the 
dead  are  buried.' 

"  My  dear  friend,  it  seems  that  when  the  cur- 
tain fell  in  Tannhauser  the  Philistines,  hypnotized 
by  the  march,  applauded  vociferously  in  spite  of 
themselves,  and  we  Republicans,  who  had  come  to 
applaud  in  Vacquerie,  the  great  exile  and  legend- 
ary hero,  were  all  seized  with  a  fit  of  uncontrolla- 
ble laughter  at  the  obsequies  of  Yorge's  honour, 
and  not  of  Gorge." 

Summoned  by  Monsieur  Grevy,  I  spent  a  few 
days  in  Paris  at  an  hotel,  near  my  cousin  Vilbort. 

The  two  great  events  of  which  everybody  was 
speaking  were,  to  begin  with,  the  first  numbers  of 
the  Temps,  under  our  friend  NefFtzer.  From  the 
time  he  left  (he  then  came  back,  and  then  again  left 

[357] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


the  Prcsse),  Nefftzer  always  meant  to  set  up  for 
himself.  He  first  of  all  founded  the  Revue  Ger- 
manique  with  Charles  Dolfus,  and  now  here  he  is 
the  supreme  power  at  the  Temps.  We  may  rest 
assured  he  will  fashion  his  paper  in  the  likeness  of 
Ins  own  image.  If  God  grants  life  to  the  paper, 
come  what  may,  Nefftzer  will  be  no  other  than  man- 
aging editor  of  the  Temps.  He  does  not  under- 
stand or  tolerate  cumulative  professions  and  will 
never  allow  a  journalist  to  be  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment. To  Nefftzer  the  tribune  of  the  press  is 
superior  to  the  parliamentary  one.  Nefftzer  is  a 
liberal,  or  rather  a  free-thinking  philosopher,  and 
he  means  to  be  free  to  remain  such.  He  protests 
against  all  restriction  of  free-thinking,  whatever 
form  it  may  assume,  and  he  becomes  fierce  when 
the  independence  of  personal  life  is  called  into 
question.  I  have  often  listened  to  his  discussions 
with  Littre.  Nefftzer  is  an  Hegelian,  and  he  will- 
ingly repeats,  "  Every  Hegelian  is  a  Positivist, 
but  a  Positivist  who  has  appointed  limits  to  his 
thought  cannot  be  an  Hegelian." 

The  second  great  event  is  the  publication  of  the 
Due  d'Aumale's  pamphlet,  entitled  Lettre  sur 
l'Histoire  de  France.  In  spite  of  the  insistence  of 
Prince  Napoleon,  whom  the  pamphlet  attacks  most 
virulently  and  who  is  shrieking  from  the  house- 

[358] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


tops  that  Orlcanism  is  receiving  a  gigantic  propa- 
ganda, the  Lettre  sur  l'Histoire  de  France  has  got 
to  answer  for  itself  in  the  law  courts. 

De  Rheims,  a  friend  of  the  Due  d'Aumale, 
brought  me  the  unprocurable  pamphlet.  He  con- 
firms that  Prince  Napoleon  had  exerted  every 
effort,  first  to  remove  the  interdiction  and  then  to 
prevent  its  seizure,  and  he  repeated  Prince  Napo- 
leon's words :  "  This  so-called  lesson  from  history 
is  nothing  but  an  Orleanist  manifesto.  Take  good 
care  not  to  furnish  it  with  the  halo  of  a  seizure, 
the  more  so  as  the  Legitimists  themselves  declare 
against  this  manifesto  and  disclaim  its  principles, 
which,  they  say,  are  antagonistic  to  those  of 
Legitimacy." 

"  The  princes,"  added  de  Rheims,  "  are  de- 
lighted at  the  seizure,  which  just  trebles  the  im- 
portance of  the  publication.  I  have  received  this 
very  morning,"  he  told  me,  "  a  letter  from  the 
Due  d'Aumale,  who  blesses  the  Imperial  Govern- 
ment, and  is  astonished  to  find  it  so  ingenuous. 
We  have  two  thousand  copies  of  the  pamphlet  in 
reserve,"  de  Rheims  told  me  in  confidence.  "  Just 
ask  me  for  as  many  as  you  want.  I  am  sending 
those  for  the  ladies  wrapped  up  in  chocolate 
boxes."  I  gave  him  the  names  of  all  my  lady 
friends  and  warned  them  by  letter. 

[359] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


The  style  of  the  Lettre  sur  l'Histoire  de  France 
has  not  the  classic  form  of  seventeenth-century 
French.  The  thoughts  are  noble  and  the  judgment 
at  once  elevated,  realistic,  very  combative,  and 
very  living.  The  historian  remains  a  historian, 
but  he  does  not  despise  the  passion  and  rhetorical 
arts  of  the  controversialist. 

What  will  Nefftzer  have  to  say  (and  I  shall  be 
compelled  to  ask  him)  on  the  coincidence  of  the 
appearance  of  his  paper  and  the  publication  of  the 
Due  d'Aumale's  pamphlet?  "  Our  fat  friend,"  as 
we  call  him,  who  distinguishes  himself  under  the 
rubric  of  "  the  stranger  to  all  parties,"  is 
secretly  an  Orleanist.  His  ideal  world  seems  to 
be  a  good-natured  King  with  a  tincture  of  the 
Voltairian  spirit  and  as  conventional  as  Louis 
Philippe.  Nobody  suspects  him  of  being  a  Mon- 
archist. All  his  life  he  will  be  considered  a  Re- 
publican. 

However,  the  Temps  will  be  no  greater  enemy 
to  the  liberal  Empire  than  the  Presse  under  the 
guidance  of  Nefftzer  was  to  the  first  of  oath-takers, 
to  Emile  Ollivier.  Albert  Nefftzer  would  not  at 
this  hour  go  so  far  as  to  exclaim,  like  his  protege, 
Ollivier :  "  For  myself,  who  am  a  Republican,  I 
shall  support  to  the  full  extent  of  my  power,  and 
my  support  will  be  the  more  efficacious  in  propor- 

[360] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


tion  as  it  is  disinterested,  and  I  shall  admire  the 
liberal  initiative  of  the  Emperor." 

The  pleiad  of  leader-writers  on  the  Temps  is 
well  known.  By  degrees  all  my  friends,  ancient 
and  modern,  became  contributors  to  its  columns. 

In  our  circle  they  say  of  NefFtzer :  "  He  is  as 
honest  a  man  as  possible.  Somewhat  dull  of  imag- 
ination, he  possesses  above  all  strong  common  sense ; 
he  will  never  become,  whatever  betide,  a  thunder- 
bolt of  Opposition."  Moderate  and  well-balanced, 
he  is  tenacious  of  one  thing  only — his  own  opinion. 
When  once  his  mind  is  made  up  on  a  subject,  it  is 
not  to  be  shaken,  and  therefore  he  means  and  in- 
tends to  put  his  belief  into  action.  He  is  pro- 
foundly liberal  and  tolerant  because  he  would  bear 
it  ill  if  others  were  not  thus  disposed  towards  him. 

The  only  subject  on  which  Nefftzer  grew  elo- 
quent was  religious  discussion.  I  have  it  from 
Challemel-Lacour  that  Peyrat  and  Nefftzer  often 
engaged  in  heated  argument  on  this  vexed  and 
debatable  question  at  the  Cafe  Kusler.  The  tables 
shook  with  the  violence  of  their  emphatic  fists,  and 
glasses  trembled  and  wobbled,  while  the  doughty 
champions  were  busy  hurling  opposing  texts  at 
each  other's  heads. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  month  I  went  with  the 
Vilborts  to  a  first  performance  of  La   Statue  at 

[361] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


the  Lyric  Theatre.  The  composer  was  Reyer,  a 
young  man  who,  as  Madame  Vilbort  said,  "  had 
a  future  in  spite  of  his  being  a  Frenchman."  Can 
one  conceive  the  impudence  of  these  Wagnerians? 
It  really  gives  one  a  clean  bill  to  hate  them  cor- 
dially. Saint-Victor  was  in  the  audience  with  Lea 
Felix.  He  did  not  stir  from  his  seat,  although  he 
had  caught  sight  of  me.  Gautier  sat  between  his 
two  lovely  daughters,  Judith,  a  wonder  of  beauty, 
and  the  other  charming.  Berlioz,  who  conde- 
scended to  come  and  pay  his  respects  to  me,  was 
more  tragic  than  ever.  He  was  so  unlucky  as  to 
say  to  me,  in  the  presence  of  Madame  Vilbort: 

"  Do  you  feel  proud  now  you  have  placed 
so  many  tickets  for  the  concert  of  the  Tannhauser 
gentleman  ?  " 

Madame  Vilbort  was  on  the  point  of  making  a 
reply,  but  with  my  eyes  I  begged  her  to  refrain. 
When  Berlioz  left  the  box  she  said  to  me : 

"  You  were  wrong  in  not  letting  me  tell  such 
a  partial  musician  that  I  am  a  devoted  lover  of 
Weimar,  and  that  I  can  with  the  same  breath  ad- 
mire the  great  Berlioz  and  the  great  Wagner ;  and 
I  must  add,  cousin,  Berlioz  can  only  be  really  great 
for  the  crowd,  when  Wagner  is  great  for  the  same 
crowd." 

"  With  Berlioz's  character,  my  dear  friend,  I 

[362] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


can  easily  anticipate  the  reply  and  the  sneer;  and 
for  my  part  I  would  prefer  not  to  be  either  cause 
or  witness  of  such  unpleasantness." 

Madame  d'Agoult  had  now  returned  to  Paris, 
and  once  again  we  found  ourselves  all  grouped 
round  her.  How  much  she  must  have  been  missed 
by  all  those  who  had  not  had  the  good  fortune,  like 
myself,  to  be  absent  from  Paris;  how  empty  town 
must  have  felt  without  her! 

Among  my  musical  acquaintances  Berlioz  was 
not  the  only  one  who  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  be 
misunderstood.  I  had  known  Louis  Lacombe  now 
for  some  years,  having  been  introduced  to  him  by 
my  friends,  the  Adam-Salomons.  Louis  Lacombe 
was  a  writer,  poet,  and  composer.  As  enthusiastic 
as  he  was  timid,  he  altogether  lacked  the  power  of 
pushing  himself  forward.  His  wife,  a  woman  of 
rare  intelligence  and  devotion,  might  have  supplied 
this  quality  wanting  in  his  composition,  but  she 
was  a  martyr  to  a  mortal  disease.  One  would  have 
thought  at  one  moment,  when  the  great  patriotic 
hymn  of  the  Cimbri  and  Teutones  was  being 
chanted  by  five  thousand  voices  with  enormous  suc- 
cess, that  the  portals  of  fame  and  renown  stood  wide 
open  to  Louis  Lacombe.  But  one  of  his  sympho- 
nies, accepted  by  the  Conservatoire,  gave  occasion 
24  [  363  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


for  violent  protestations  on  the  part  of  all  the 
musical  critics.  Lacombe  also  was  a  precursor. 
The  daring  and  bold  audacity  in  the  instrumental 
portion  of  his  symphony  was  pronounced  revolu- 
tionary and  altogether  inadmissible.  In  revenge, 
another  of  his  great  symphonies,  Sappho,  found 
none  but  perfervid  admirers. 

Lacombe  wrote  exquisitely  about  music.  His 
conversation  on  this  theme  was  captivating  and 
enthralling  to  a  degree,  and  to  those  whose  good 
fortune  it  was  to  be  present  never  to  be  forgotten. 
His  theory  was  that  melody  blends  itself  imper- 
ceptibly into  harmony  in  such  a  way  that  inex- 
tricably penetrated  and  permeated  the  one  with 
the  other,  they  become,  as  it  were,  one ;  and  melody 
resulting  from  harmonious  union  may  be  compared 
to  that  delicious  perfume  of  woods  in  springtime, 
when  the  gentle  zephyrs  waft  in  their  train  count- 
less exhalations  of  sweet  and  delicate  odours. 

To  Louis  Lacombe  music  was  but  the  voice  which 
expresses  the  ideas  and  sentiments  of  man  in  uni- 
versal language.  In  his  opinion  music  was  not  the 
fortuitous  combination  of  sounds  strung  together 
by  art;  his  constant  aim  was  to  bring  out  and 
emphasize  the  philosophic  thought  and  the  dra- 
matic sentiment  underlying  all  musical  expression. 
His  lyric  epic  on  the  progress  of  human  thought 

[364] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


may  be  compared  to  what  Chenavard  was  striving 
to  express  in  the  sister  art  of  painting,  humanity- 
hood,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  word,  and  universal- 
ity. The  ideas  of  Auguste  Comte  and  of  Littre 
were  influencing  art  in  a  most  curious  way.  Altru- 
ism, association,  synthesis,  humanity,  were  every- 
body's watchwords  and  stock  in  trade.  At  this 
period  the  infinitely  great  claimed  the  universal 
preoccupation,  as  later  on  the  infinitely  small  en- 
gaged the  general  attention.  The  limits  of  in- 
clusion and  comprehension  were  too  vast  to  allow 
a  clear  conception  to  be  formed  of  any  one  thing. 

Poor  Louis  Lacombe  had  lately  suffered  a  most 
painful  and  bitter  experience.  The  representation 
of  his  Madone  was  a  complete  and  tragic  failure. 
From  this  moment  all  recognition  was  denied  him. 
Yet  his  name  was  not  unknown,  and  some  of  his 
works,  notably  Chants  de  la  Patrie,  and  his  re- 
ligious melodies,  like  Au  Pied  d'un  Crucifix,  Le 
Sorge  de  Jeanne  d'Arc,  were  mentioned  with  ap- 
probation and  approval.  His  operas,  like  Vinkel- 
ried,  which  subsequently  received  such  frenzied 
applause  at  Geneva,  and  his  Reine  des  Eaux,  were 
works  of  high  value,  composed  to  perpetuate  and 
consecrate  for  all  time  the  name  of  a  great  artist. 

We  formed  a  small  and  select  band  of  faithful 
admirers,  who  loved  to  listen  to  Louis  Lacombe, 

[365] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


and  applaud  him.  It  was  our  custom,  whenever  he 
gave  a  musical  evening,  to  go  over  to  the  Saint- 
George  quarter,  and  none  of  the  faithful  ever  failed 
at  the  roll-call.  We  were  happy  to  show  our 
appreciation  and  admiration  for  him,  and  to  soften 
a  little  of  the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment. 
The  Kestner  family,  who  were  extremely  musical, 
were  always  present  at  these  gatherings.  Madame 
Floquet,  still  quite  a  young  girl,  was,  like  all 
Lacombe's  pupils,  a  worshipper  at  the  shrine  of 
the  gentle  and  unfortunate  master,  and  this 
afforded  him  much  consolation  for  the  public  in- 
difference. Louis  Enault,  a  devoted  admirer, 
brought  over  many  of  his  literary  friends,  and  the 
universal  exclamation,  after  listening  to  the  music, 
was  always :  "  How  is  it  possible  for  such  talent 
to  be  misunderstood?"  And  yet  was  not  Berlioz 
equally  misunderstood? 

Neither  Madame  d'Agoult  nor  I  had  been  able 
to  be  present  at  the  opening  day  of  the  Salon, 
and  we  were  now  constantly  deferring  our  visit. 
But  one  day  Castagnary,  one  of  our  first  art 
critics,  proposed  to  meet  us  there.  He  had  but 
lately  joined  the  staff  of  the  Courrier  du  Dimanche, 
or  was  just  on  the  point  of  doing  so,  I  forget  which. 
Along  with  him  we  had  to  admire,  first,  Daubigny's 
Pare  aux  Moutons,  then  another  picture  of  natural 

[366] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


life,  then  a  landscape  by  Corot,  and  finally  three 
pictures  by  Millet,  which  led  to  an  earnest  and  inter- 
esting discussion  between  Madame  d'Agoult  and 
Castagnary  on  the  subject  of  Millet.  Madame 
d'Agoult  mentioned  the  great  impression  produced 
on  her  three  years  before  by  the  Woman  Grazing  a 
Cow.  Castagnary  was  in  raptures,  for  he  claimed 
to  be  among  the  first  to  "  discover  "  Millet — and 
how  skilfully  he  analyzed  him !  With  what  dexter- 
ous art  did  he  unfold  and  point  out  the  truths  and 
beauties  in  that  masterpiece,  La  Tondeuse  de 
Moutons !  Of  the  three  paintings  exhibited  by 
Millet,  the  one  I  should  have  preferred  to  possess 
was  L'Attente. 

I  now  began  writing  my  Recits  d'une  Paysanne, 
and  did  my  best  to  saturate  myself  with  the  spirit 
of  research  after  simple  and  unadorned  truth,  after 
nature  both  eclectic  and  respected,  but  such  a  na- 
ture seen  through  the  eyes  of  a  great  artist  should 
remain  unaltered  and  identically  the  same  in  es- 
sence, notwithstanding  its  different  manifestations 
and  expressions. 

"  Millet  also  loves  peasants,"  I  remarked  to  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult. 

I  received  a  reprimand. 

Castagnary  had  defended  Courbet  at  the  mo- 
ment he  was  most  bitterly  attacked.     I  told  him  of 

[367] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


the  scene  in  the  Rue  de  Beaune  between  Courbet 
and  Toussenel;  it  gave  him  much  amusement. 

The  Charlotte  Corday  of  Paul  Baudry  produced 
a  deep  impression  on  me,  and  as  I  had  given  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult  one  of  my  photographs  in  the  cos- 
tume of  Charlotte  Corday  by  Adam-Salomon,  my 
dear  friend,  although  she  herself  admired  Baudry, 
gently  ridiculed  me,  saying: 

"  Come,  little  Juliette,  you  have  admired  your- 
self quite  long  enough." 

The  Battle  of  Solferino,  by  Ivan,  interested 
both  Madame  d'Agoult  and  myself;  but  these 
"clumsy  affairs  "  were  not  to  Castagnary's  taste, 
who  piloted  us  hither  and  thither,  to  show  us  here 
and  there  his  preferences.  By  degrees  he  got  us 
into  a  corner  where  was  hanging  my  portrait  by 
Charpentier,  who  had  also  painted  the  portrait  of 
George  Sand  with  the  Carnation,  and  one  of 
Rachel.  Charpentier  had  painted  this  portrait 
the  year  before,  and  had  exhibited  it  without  my 
knowledge.  Castagnary  admired  it  very  much  on 
account  of  the  expression,  which  he  found  "  poet- 
ical and  sorrowful."  Madame  d'Agoult  thought 
his  criticism  was  just. 

"  Sorrowful,  yes,"  I  repeated  after  Castagnary. 
Poetical,  well,  perhaps,  for  while  I  was  sitting 
Charpentier,  who  is  passionately   fond  of  Italian 

[368] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


art,  was  telling  me  of  Italy's  great  painters,  of  the 
different  landscapes  which  each  one  had  had  before 
his  eyes,  of  the  places  in  which  they  lived,  and 
which  landscapes,  as  seen  by  them,  made  it  easy  to 
define  and  classify  their  different  styles. 

I  went  to  Charpentier  and  abused  him  for  hav- 
ing exhibited  my  portrait  without  my  knowledge. 
He  only  laughed  at  my  anger,  and  said: 

"  You  will  be  delighted  to  see  the  number  of  the 
exhibition  on  the  frame  of  your  portrait,  and  it 
will  also  prove  to  you  and  your  friends  that  the 
painter  was  not  a  dabbler." 

I  thought  that  his  reasoning  was  more  clever  than 
complimentary  to  our  knowledge  of  art,  but  I  gave 
him,  however,  permission  to  keep  the  portrait  in 
his  studio  for  some  little  time  after  its  return  from 
the  exhibition. 

We  all  agreed  to  meet  at  Challemel-Lacour's 
lectures  in  the  Rue  de  Provence.  What  a  treat  it 
was  to  hear  such  beautiful  language  delivered! 
What  great  knowledge  did  these  lectures  show, 
what  original  and  personal  views,  and  what  lucidity  ! 
We,  his  friends,  were  delighted  at  his  success,  and 
we  warmly  and  enthusiastically  sounded  his  praise. 
Madame  d'Agoult  gave  the  final  verdict :  "  It  is 
of  the  first  quality !  "  Madame  de  Pierreclos  was 
most  amusing,   saying:    "  Such   a   divinely   intel- 

[369] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


lectual  feast  made  me  think  I  was  drinking  am- 
brosia, and  that  I  was  at  last  tasting  for  myself, 
and  not  for  my  uncle,  a  little  immortality." 
Clemence  Royer  deigned  to  write  to  my  dear  friend 
that  "  in  Challemel-Lacour  the  criteria  super- 
abounded."  Edmond  Texier  said :  "  Nothing  can 
describe  that  fellow's  dry  humour.  He  could  easily 
knock  us  all  off  our  perch  if  he  so  wished." 

Nefftzer  wanted  Challemel-Lacour  on  his  staff, 
and  de  Ronchaud  was  overjoyed,  as  he  always  was, 
when  praise  was  given  to  any  one  of  whom  he  was 
fond.  Monsieur  de  Girardin  grew  impatient  when- 
ever any  one  spoke  to  him  of  Challemel-Lacour, 
and  asserted  that  his  lectures  teemed  with  political 
allusions.  It  is  to  be  supposed  that  the  Minister 
of  the  Interior  entertained  the  same  views,  for  he 
stopped  the  lectures  and  deprived  us  of  our 
"  treat." 

"  I  felt  certain,"  said  Madame  de  Pierreclos, 
"  that  our  rulers  would  cut  off  my  ambrosia.  Baked 
apples  are  what  those  people  like  best." 

Madame  d'Agoult  received  sad  news  from  a 
friend  in  Turin.  Cavour  was  at  the  point  of 
death ;  the  Italian  doctors  were  killing  him.  They 
were  barbers,  and  had  bled  him  fourteen  times. 
Alas !  they  bled  him  three  times  more,  and  he  died. 

"  His  death  is  a  great  and  irreparable  disaster," 

[370] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


said  Madame  d'Agoult,  when  the  news  of  it  reached 
us.  "  Of  course,  the  Italian  harvests  will  be 
gathered  in,  for  they  are  ripe,  but  no  one  will  reap 
and  preserve  their  fruit  with  his  cleverness  and 
foresight." 

"  And,  just  see,"  added  Madame  d'Agoult  as  a 
sequel  to  this  conversation,  about  a  month  later, 
"  France  recognises  the  Kingdom  of  Italy  too 
quickly,  and  without  guarantees ;  the  negotiations 
with  Cavour  would  have  been  made  on  a  different 
footing." 

At  one  of  Daniel  Stern's  evening  receptions 
every  one  was  talking  of  the  evacuation  of  Syria 
by  the  French  troops,  but  none  of  the  anti-Cler- 
icals— not  even  Peyrat — cast  blame  on  the  expedi- 
tion. Both  Littre — who  openly  expressed  his 
mind — and  Carnot  were  of  opinion  that  France 
could  not  admit  any  forfeiture  of  her  traditions 
in  the  East.  We  all  approved  Dupont-White, 
without  one  dissenting  voice,  who  said  that  "  where 
influence  was  traditional,  politics  should  be  left 
out." 

"  Go  and  persuade  the  Syrians,"  he  said,  joking- 
ly, "  of  the  importance  of  Monsieur  Dupont- 
White's  books  on  Centralization,  and  the  State. 
They  will  think  you  are  talking  Chinese  to  them. 
Any  Government  that  feels  the  importance  of  our 

[371] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


protecting  Christians  in  the  East  is  entitled  to  our 
support,"  continued  Dupont-White,  "  and  it 
would  seem  that  the  present  solution  of  control  by 
the  Powers  was  the  best  of  all  for  the  prevention 
of  the  renewal  of  periodical  massacres." 

Just  then  Renan  came  in  and  Dupont-White 
called  out  to  him: 

"  I  say,  Renan,  you  have  been  twice  to  Syria ;  do 
you  consider  the  present  decision  a  good  one?  ': 

"  A  very  good  one.  It  will  certainly  stop  the 
massacres." 

"  Were  you  sent  there  to  stir  up  religious  fanat- 
icism ? "  asked  Dupont-White,  laughingly.  "  I 
know  that  your  second  mission  was  obtained  for 
you  by  Prince  Napoleon,  so  I  fancy  that  you  went 
there  rather  to  join  hands  with  the  infidels.  Both 
you  and  your  Prince  are  two  of  the  finest  specimens 
of  unbelievers  in  the  world." 

"  But  Prince  Napoleon  is  a  Deist,"  answered 
Renan. 

"  All  the  better ;  I  am  glad  of  it ;  and  you  ?  " 

"I?"  ...  he  hesitated. 

"  You,  Renan,"  said  Tribert,  "  you  are  a  seeker 
of  divine  .   .   .  literary  inspirations !  " 

"  I  often  say,  '  My  God ! '  "  returned  Renan. 
"  But  between  that  and  opening  my  eyes  to  be- 
lieve  " 

[372] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


"  Oh,  dreadful  sceptic !  The  answer  is  worthy 
of  you,"  Dupont-White  added. 

"  And  the  astonishment  worthy  of  you,  Dupont- 
White,  the  Catholic." 

"  Excuse  me,  the  Christian !  " 

Littre,  who  had  seemed  to  be  musing,  said, 
smiling  kindly: 

"  I  cannot  fancy  Renan  preaching  a  crusade  in 
Syria  or  anywhere  else." 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  it,"  concluded  Tribert, 
who  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  introducing  a 
popular  saying. 

What  a  friend  I  had  in  de  Ronchaud !  He  was 
constantly  sending  Madame  d'Agoult  to  invite  me 
here  or  there,  to  that  or  this.  His  friendship  was 
continuous,  unchanging,  sure.  He  had  just  finished 
his  fine  work,  Phidias,  La  Vie  et  Les  03uvres,  and 
he  brought  it  to  me. 

"  Ronchaud,  I  shall  not  only  read  your  Phidias, 
I  shall  devour  it!  Setting  aside  the  passionate 
interest  I  take  in  the  Master  of  Masters,  think  what 
pleasure  I  shall  have  in  discovering  new  views  about 
him,  knowing,  as  I  do,  the  respect  and  affection 
that  has  guided  their  search.  I  must  tell  you, 
Ronchaud,  of  a  dream  I  had  about  Phidias.  I  was 
talking  to  a  priest  of  Eleusis,  whom  my  imagina- 
tion had  conjured  up,  and  who  had  come  to  life 

[  S73  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


at  my  call,  and  I  asked  him  if  he  thought  that 
Zeus  had  taken  interest  in  the  work  of  the  immortal 
Phidias.  '  Never  doubt  it,'  he  replied.  '  But  now, 
being  risen  to  life  again,'  said  the  priest,  '  I  see  in 
times  to  come  Phidias  preparing,  unawares,  other 
gods  than  ours.  In  giving  to  man  a  perfect  and 
divine  form,  he  has  tempted  a  God  to  become 
human.  Plato,  in  his  turn,  will  so  spiritualize 
man's  mind  that  it  will  suggest  to  a  God  to  in- 
carnate himself  in  man.  Shall  I  ever  be  able  to 
rest  again  after  such  strange  visions  ?  '  added  the 
priest  of  Eleusis,  and  disappeared." 

"  The  idea  of  Phidias  preparing  the  way  for 
Jesus  is  a  beautiful  one,"  said  de  Ronchaud.  "  I 
am  going  now  at  once  to  repeat  it  to  Saint-Victor, 
who  is  often  unhappy  at  not  being  able  to  reconcile 
his  Catholicism  with  his  passion  for  Greece." 

We  were  only  four  persons  at  Madame 
d'Agoult's  one  evening.  I  had  gone  to  bid  her 
good-bye.  She  was  leaving  with  de  Ronchaud  for 
Lucipin-par-Claude,  and  I  was  returning  to 
Chauny.  Edouard  Grenier  was  praising  Phidias 
in  most  eulogistic  terms.  He  declared  he  had 
made  Monsieur  de  Lamartine  listen  while  he  de- 
scribed the  book,  and  as  everybody  knew  that  Mon- 
sieur de  Lamartine  never  listened  to  anything,  it 
was  therefore  Grenier's  greatest  success,  to  which 

[374] 


POLITICS— ART— MUSIC 


any  future  successes  he  might  have  would  be 
nothing  in  comparison. 

Grenier  had  two  passions :  the  first  was  Monsieur 
de  Lamartine;  the  second,  Madame  d'Agoult.  De 
Ronchaud  said :  "  I  feel  the  same,  only  I  begin  by 
adoring  Madame  d'Agoult,  and  then  Monsieur  de 
Lamartine  after." 

I  had  written  to  Menard  to  say  good-bye  and 
he  came  to  see  me,  and  I  was  delighted  to  hear  him 
praise  Phidias  also. 

"  It  is  a  fine,  a  very  fine  book,"  he  repeated ; 
"  and,  a  propos  of  renown,"  Menard  added,  "  I 
fancy  that  Mireille  will  receive  a  prize  from  the 
Academy.  Several  of  the  '  Immortals  '  are  think- 
ing of  giving  it.  The  Academy  will  honour  itself 
in  honouring  this  work,  which  is  an  offspring  of 
Greece.  It  is  time  that  France  should  acquire  re- 
nown through  her  provinces." 

"  How  extraordinary,  Menard !  You  talk  like 
Littre,  who  regrets  that  the  small  French  provinces 
which  elaborated  the  grandeur  of  France  should 
not  have  received  their  part  in  her  greatness." 


[375] 


CHAPTER    XV 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


n  COULD  work  well  nowhere  but  at  Chauny. 
Paris  absorbed  me  and  used  me  up,  in  a 
few  weeks,  more  than  would  a  year  in  my  quiet 
province.  I  felt  in  my  heart  I  could  never  live 
continuously  in  Paris. 

I  began  to  work,  and  soon  had  written  three 
short  stories  of  my  Recits  d'une  Paysanne.  My 
father  thought  that  these  tales  showed  great  prog- 
ress over  my  preceding  books.  This  gave  me  fresh 
courage.  I  sent  one  of  my  stories  to  Madame 
d'Agoult,  who  kept  it,  and  wrote  me  that  on  her 
return  from  Lucipin  she  would  give  it  to  John 
Lemoine,  who,  she  remembered,  had  spoken  very 
kindly  of  Mon  Village,  and  who,  she  thought, 
would  certainly  accept  it  for  the  Debats.  My 
dear  friend  added: 

"  We  have  also  La  Presse,  Le  Temps,  Le  Siecle, 
the  Revue  Germanique,  and  the  Revue  Nationale, 
where  our  friend,  Arthur  Arnould,  is  sure  to  ask 
for  a  story.  When  once  you  have  these  published, 
the  others  will  soon  follow  suit.     Hetzel,  moreover, 

[376] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


can  undertake  to  propose  them,  if  by  chance  they 
should  not  ask  you  for  them." 

I  found  time,  at  last,  to  read  La  Decadence  de 
la  Monarchie  Francaise,  by  Pelletan. 

My  father  enjoyed  it  fully.  Fancy!  Louis 
XIV  and  Louis  XV  considered  as  "  factors  "  of 
the  Great  Revolution !  This  had  been  my  father's 
opinion  ever  since  I  had  known  him.  The  princi- 
ple, "  God  alone  is  great !  "  was  changed  by  Pelletan 
to  "  The  people  alone  is  great !  "  Nothing  that  I 
could  write  on  the  Decadence  de  la  Monarchie 
Francaise  would  ever  describe  the  state  of  my 
father's  feelings.     I  began  this  letter  to  Pelletan: 

"  My  dear  Friend  :  I  pass  my  pen  on  to  my 
father.  He  will  tell  you  far  better  than  I  can, 
who  am  less  radical  than  he,  how  much  his  sym- 
pathy for  you  has  increased  since  his  discovery  that 
you  both  think  alike  on  every  point.  He  never 
imagined  that  his  innermost  thoughts  could  be  put 
into  such  magnificent  language." 

Madame  d'Agoult,  who  had  just  returned  from 
Lucipin,  wrote  me  that  she  was  longing  to  see 
her  young  friend,  and  she  invited  me  at  once  to 
go  with  her,  at  the  end  of  October,  to  see  Alceste 
at  the  Opera.  Doctor  Cabarrus  was  also  to  be 
asked,  in  case  I  should  faint  away.     Ronchaud  had 

[377] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


told  her  of  all  the  emotion  we  had  felt  when  we 
heard  Orphee,  and  of  my  having  fainted. 

"  I  owe  it  you,  dear  child,  to  take  you  to  hear 
Alceste,"  said  Madame  d'Agoult,  "  so  that  you 
shall  no  longer  remember  or  reproach  me  with 
Orphee- aux-En  fers . " 

Was  I  really  to  hear  Alceste  sung  by  Madame 
Viardot?  Being  at  the  world's  end  would  alone 
have  prevented  me  from  going.  I  determined  to 
spend  but  a  week  in  Paris,  as  I  wished  to  finish  my 
Recits  d'une  Paysanne,  so  that,  as  Hetzel  desired, 
they  might  be  published  in  the  papers  and  reviews 
in  the  early  part  of  the  year. 

One  happy  evening  accordingly  found  me  at  the 
Opera,  in  a  box  close  to  the  entrance  to  the  stalls. 
All  the  men,  as  they  passed,  bowed  to  Madame 
d'Agoult.  Jules  Simon,  Challemel-Lacour,  and 
Edmond  Adam  sat  near  to  us.  Madame  d'Agoult 
pointed  out  Chenavard  to  me,  whom  I  had  never 
seen.  Berlioz  also  was  there.  Madame  Viardot 
called  him  "  her  adviser." 

Was  it  Berlioz  who  had  so  wonderfully  imbued 
Madame  Viardot's  soul  with  the  character  of  a 
love  over  which  fatalism  predominated,  and  which 
still  imagined  that  struggle  was  possible?  What 
incomparable  artists  were  Gliick  and  Madame  Viar- 
dot to  add  to  my  intense  admiration  of  Euripides ! 

[378] 


JULES  SIMON. 
From  an  eugraviug  by  L.  Le  Main. 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


The  tragic  grandeur  of  Alceste's  feelings  touched 
me  to  such  a  degree  that  my  tears  flowed. 

As  the  curtain  fell  Chenavard  asked  Madame 
d'Agoult,  in  scarcely  audible  tones,  and  before  me, 
who  was  the  young  person  who  wept  at  Alceste. 

"  A  pagan,"  replied  Madame  d'Agoult. 

Chenavard  was  a  philosophic  artist.  "  The 
painter  of  thoughts,"  as  he  was  called,  who  had 
summarized  in  forty  celebrated  cartoons,  "  the  his- 
tory of  man  from  his  first  sorrows  to  the  French 
Revolution."  In  1848  Ledru-Rollin  commissioned 
him  to  decorate  the  Pantheon  with  his  forty  car- 
toons. He  began  to  paint  them,  and  although  the 
rather  sectarian  spirit  of  his  conceptions  might 
admit  of  discussion,  no  one  could  contest  their 
artistic  value. 

The  Second  of  December  wrested  the  artist 
from  his  work  without  so  much  as  allowing  him  to 
finish  any  of  the  pictures  he  had  begun. 

All  the  artists  took  his  part,  and  the  "  Chena- 
vard question  "  was  debated  in  every  studio  and 
cafe.  He  did  his  utmost  trying  to  defend  it.  He 
received  a  First  Medal  for  his  cartoons,  which  were 
exhibited  in  1855. 

Chenavard  asked  me  to  go  and  see  his  cartoons. 
I  went  the  next  day,  and,  in  spite  of  my  dislike  for 
universality,  I  was  delighted. 
25  [  379  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Alceste  had  but  little  success  with  the  sub- 
scribers at  the  Opera,  which  was  another  source  of 
chagrin  to  Berlioz.  He  came  to  shake  hands  with 
Madame  d'Agoult  and  myself,  and  both  he  and  I 
talked  in  raptures  of  Alceste.  My  eyes  were 
still  full  of  tears.  "  The  music  that  moves 
you  to  tears  makes  others  yawn,"  he  said,  with  a 
sweeping  gesture  that  took  in  the  whole  audi- 
ence. 

Jules  Simon  came  into  our  box,  sat  down  and 
chatted  with  Madame  d'Agoult  about  various 
things,  while  Berlioz  stood  outside  and  talked  to 
me  of  Puccini  and  Gliick.  Puccini,  he  thought, 
had  power  to  move  sensitive  souls,  while  Gliick 
seized,  took  possession  of,  and  racked  the  stronger 
ones  with  pain. 

Jules  Simon  was  enumerating  his  grievances 
against  the  Empire ;  the  war  with  China  was  over, 
but  he  felt  certain  that  a  fresh  one  was  about  to 
begin  in  Mexico.  On  the  other  hand,  the  United 
States  remained  neutral,  and  Jules  Simon  sighed. 
We  often,  among  ourselves,  called  him  "  the 
weeper." 

He  was  a  writer  of  great  worth,  and  L'Histoire 
de  l'Ecole  d'Alexandrie,  his  Platon  et  Aristote, 
are  works  which  I  highly  esteem.  I  think  he  was 
a  sincere  Liberal,  and  the  last  book  I  read  of  his, 

[  380] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


La  Liberte  de  Conscience,  I  consider  as  an  act  of 
courage.  Although  Jules  Simon — I  cannot  tell  why 
— claimed  a  certain  literary  relationship  with  me,  I 
never  liked  him,  and  we  have  never  been  intimate 
friends.  His  character  did  not  inspire  me  with  any 
confidence.  At  certain  moments  one  could  agree 
with  him,  for  he  was  sometimes  caught  in  his  own 
trap.  But  which  one  of  us  would  have  pledged 
himself  to  follow  him  always,  or  be  assured  of 
being  always  followed  by  him? 

I  was  talking  one  day  of  Jules  Simon  to  Ed- 
mond  Adam,  and  he  related  this  incident  to  me: 
"  In  1851  the  theatres  still  reserved  our  places  for 
us,  as  being  contributors  to  the  Nationale,  and 
one  evening  I  found  myself  next  to  Jules  Simon 
at  the  Theatre  Francais.  He  had  resigned  his 
position  of  professor,  as  I  had  resigned  mine  of 
State  Councillor.  I  had  contracted  20,000  francs 
of  debts  at  the  Paris  City  Hall,  where  we  received 
no  salary,  and  all  I  possessed  was  300  francs.  On 
leaving  the  theatre  Jules  Simon  and  I  walked  home 
by  the  Boulevards.  We  complained  together  of 
the  hard  times,  and  he  excited  my  pity  to  such  a 
degree  by  his  descriptions  of  his  home,  his  wife 
and  children,  that  I  offered  him  the  half  of  what 
I  possessed.  Now,  I  heard  from  a  friend  of  his, 
whom  I  accidentally  met  on  leaving  him,  that  he 

[381  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


had  at  the  very  least  ten  thousand  francs  a  year 
by  his  wife,  which  sum,  in  those  days,  was  thought 
to  be  ample  means." 

Madame  d'Agoult  kept  Jules  Simon  in  the  box, 
and  no  sooner  had  the  curtain  fallen  than  he  began 
disparaging  Paradol,  and  said  "  that  were  the 
Press  free  he  would  be  found  to  have  no  talent 
whatever.  Oh!  how  much  he  preferred  Eugene 
Forcade.  There  was  a  man  whose  prose  did  not 
beat  around  the  bush;  he  attacked  subjects  at 
once." 

Jules  Simon  could  not  make  out  how  a  warning 
had  been  given  to  La  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes. 
The  warning  was  eminently  severe.  Forcade  was 
accused  of  endeavouring  by  the  most  mendacious 
accusations  to  spread  alarm  in  the  land.  And 
Jules  Simon,  having  demolished  Paradol  to  For- 
cade's  advantage,  said  that  he  thought  the  latter 
had,  perhaps,  "  misunderstood  the  information, 
and  at  times  was  really  a  little  out  of  his  mind." 
Jules  Simon  was,  in  truth,  kind-hearted. 

Girardin,  just  then,  came  in  for  a  moment  to 
speak  to  us.  He  had  learned  what  had  brought  the 
King  of  Prussia  to  Compeigne.  There  was  com- 
plete accord  about  the  unity  of  Italy.  Prussia, 
too,  was  working  for  the  unity  of  Germany,  and 
would  therefore  aid  the  unity  of  Italy,  and  the 

[382] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


system  of  compensation  which  had  already 
given  us  Nice  and  Savoy  was  very  likely  to 
spread. 

Girardin  found  this  line  of  politics  remarkable, 
that  in  acquiescing  to  the  Italian  current  of  opin- 
ion they  should  create  a  corresponding  German 
one. 

Jean  Mace,  the  author  of  La  Bouchee  de  Pain, 
was  greatly  in  favour  of  an  alliance  between 
France  and  Germany,  the  Germans  being  so  good 
and  so  fond  of  us! 

I  recalled  Hetzel's  words  and  About's  prophecy, 
and  I  said  to  Monsieur  de  Girardin  that  Hetzel  and 
About — one  coming  from  Alsatia  and  the  other 
from  Lorraine — perhaps  knew  the  Germans  better 
than  he  and  Mace,  who  were  both  Parisians. 

Laurent  Pichat  came  to  speak  to  us.  Was  the 
Princess  there,  too?  Should  we  imitate  our  friend 
Jules  Simon  and  become  censorious  also?  But  the 
author  of  Sybille  had  no  enemies ;  all  that  he  could 
have  feared  would  have  been  a  little  gossip.  He 
had  a  large  heart  and  a  superior  mind.  His 
Chroniques  Rimees  were  written  ten  years  before 
the  first  volume  of  La  Legende  des  Siecles,  and  are 
not  unworthy  of  being  compared  to  them.  He 
founded  La  Revue  de  Paris,  and  the  sacrifices  he 
made    for    it    have    ranked    him    with    the    great 

[383] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Mecaenas.      His     kindness     was     proverbial.      His 
greatest  luxury  was  to  give. 

Edmond  Adam  and  Challemel-Lacour  took  us 
after  the  opera  to  Tortoni's  for  ices. 

I  returned  to  Chauny,  after  having  spoken  to 
Madame  d'Agoult  concerning  my  short  stories, 
and  she  busied  herself  about  them.  Challemel,  who 
was  General  Secretary  of  La  Revue  Germanique, 
took  one,  and  the  Debats  accepted  another  she  had 
proposed  to  them.  Arthur  Arnould  asked  for  two. 
I  was  to  bring  them  completely  finished  when  I 
returned  to  Paris  in  December.  Thank  Heaven, 
my  dear  friend  was  not  going  to  leave  Paris  that 
year! 

I  had  been  only  a  short  time  at  Chauny  when,  in 
the  first  fortnight  of  November,  Monsieur  Fould's 
nomination  to  the  Ministry  of  Finances  gave  rise 
to  reports  which  greatly  stirred  public  feeling. 
The  financial  situation  was  considered  very  critical. 

On  the  24th  of  November  the  Moniteur  came 
out  with  a  leader,  which  was  a  Memoir  addressed 
to  Napoleon  III  by  Monsieur  Fould.  He  disclosed 
the  financial  situation,  which  until  then  had 
been  kept  from  public  knowledge.  A  catastrophe 
seemed  imminent,  unless  preventive  measures  were 
at  once  taken.      The   time   for  dissimulation   and 

[384] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


untruth  was  over.  The  national  debt  was  over  a 
thousand  million  francs.  All  the  letters  I  received 
were  full  of  these  facts.  The  Opposition  had  un- 
ceasingly cried  danger,  but  had  had  no  proofs  to 
show ;  now  the  figures  stood  out  plain. 

Pelletan  wrote  me  that  "  the  man  of  the  Second 
of  December  "  had  been  obliged  to  restore  to  the 
Legislative  Assembly  its  right  of  controlling  ex- 
penses, and  related  to  me  the  famous  scene  between 
Fould  and  de  Persigny,  when  the  first  cried  out  to 
the  latter :  "  We  have  had  enough  of  bric-a-brac 
politics !  "  and  railed  at  the  Minister  whose  sole 
aim  was  to  restore  the  old  Napoleonic  Empire.  The 
return  of  Monsieur  Fould  to  the  Ministry  was 
hailed  with  joy  by  the  financiers.  It  meant  defeat 
to  the  Conservatives.  Napoleon  III  placed  the 
matter  in  the  hands  of  the  man  who  had  pointed 
out  the  danger. 

Pelletan  was  condemned  to  three  months'  im- 
prisonment for  an  article  that  appeared  in  the 
Courrier  du  Dimanche — Liberty  as  it  is  Exercised 
in  Austria.  As  soon  as  he  was  under  lock  and  key 
we  all  wished  to  fly  to  see  him.  I  came  at  once  to 
Paris  to  pass  forty-eight  hours,  in  order  to  make 
him  a  visit  at  Sainte-Pelagie.  I  asked  for  permis- 
sion and  obtained  it. 

Madame  d'Agoult  gave  me  her  Histoire  de  la 

[385  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Revolution  de  1848,  which  she  begged  me  to 
present  to  Blanqui,  who  was  a  prisoner  in  the  same 
pavilion  as  Pelletan. 

Ronchaud  accompanied  me.  Sainte-Pelagie  is 
a  gloomy  place.  It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had 
ever  been  in  a  prison.  I  heard  some  one  screaming 
lamentably,  and  Pelletan  told  me  it  was  a  prisoner 
who  had  gone  mad  in  his  cell. 

Scheurer-Kestner  was  to  arrive  in  a  few  days. 
He  was  then  undergoing  imprisonment  for  a  month 
elsewhere.  His  crime  had  been  that  he  had  circu- 
lated the  publication  of  Le  Leon  du  Quartier  Latin. 

II  veut  manger  du  Bonaparte 
Le  Leon  du  Quartier  Latin. 

And,  moreover,  Scheurer-Kestner  was  a  Republi- 
can ;  he  had  opened  a  subscription  in  Alsatia  to 
found  a  journal  for  Vermorel,  Le  Mouvement  et  le 
Travail.  The  "  Black  Cabinet  "  opened  one  of 
Scheurer-Kestner's  letters  in  which  he  had  sent 
Vermorel  eight  hundred  francs  and  had  written: 
"  Strong  men  like  yourself  are  destined  to  break 
idols  and  to  re-establish  the  worship  of  the  true 
God."  The  penalty  of  these  little  indiscretions  was 
three  months'  imprisonment. 

Prisoners  received  their  friends  in  the  "  Poli- 
tician's Pavilion."    Monsieur  de  Montalembert  had 

[386] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


called  the  day  before,  and  the  Comte  d'Hausson- 
ville  on  the  morning  when  I  was  there.  Was  a 
Liberal  union  in  course  of  formation,  or  was  it  only 
the  friendly  visiting  of  writers  on  the  Courrier  du 
Dimanche? 

I  told  de  Ronchaud  to  wait  for  me,  and  asked 
Pelletan  to  take  me  to  see  Blanqui.  I  intended  to 
present  him,  first,  with  Mon  Village.  I  felt  some 
emotion,  for  I  looked  upon  Blanqui  as  a  martyr  to 
Republican  faith,  but  a  martyr  who  did  not  hesitate 
to  give  his  enemies  blow  for  blow. 

I  did  not  know  whether  I  was  going  to  see  an 
embittered  man  giving  utterance  to  curses,  or  the 
hypocrite  who  had  played,  in  a  satanical  way,  the 
role  of  a  persecuted  victim,  in  order  the  better  to 
betray  the  opinions  he  had  pretended  to  defend, 
and  the  men,  his  brothers,  who  had  confided  in  him. 
I  entered  his  room,  which  was  large,  damp,  and 
cold,  with  a  barred  window  high  up  on  the  wall. 
Blanqui  was  in  bed,  at  the  foot  of  which  were  his 
sabots.  He  fixed  his  eyes,  burning  with  fever  and 
intensely  black,  on  me.  I  could  scarcely  support 
his  gaze.  His  thin  face,  his  dolorous  physiognomy, 
pained  me,  for  I  had  never  seen  before  such  an 
expression  of  hopelessness  and  of  suffering  en- 
graved on  any  human  face.  You  could  guess  the 
bitter  lines  of  his  mouth  under  his  white  beard. 

[387] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


The  effects  of  solitude,  of  his  imprisonments  at 
Fontevrault,  Mont  Saint-Michel,  and  Doullens 
were  written  on  Ins  pallid  brow,  that  had  so  seldom 
been  caressed  by  sunlight.  A  troop  of  sparrows 
flew  about  the  room. 

"  Here,"  said  Pelletan,  "  is  Madame  Juliette 
Lamber,  a  Republican  writer,  who  has  come  to  give 
you  her  last  book.  You,  who  are  a  Southern  man, 
will  find  the  poetry  of  the  North  in  it,  and  perhaps 
it  will  interest  you  for  an  hour  or  two." 

"  Unless — and  I  have  only  just  thought  of  it  " 
— I  added,  "  it  may  be  cruel  to  bring  a  prisoner 
the  perfume  of  the  open  fields." 

Blanqui  took  the  book  from  my  hands  and  placed 
it  on  his  bed. 

"  And  then,"  I  continued,  "  I  am  commissioned 
by  Daniel  Stern " 

"  Daniel  Stern !  "     His  eyes  gleamed  like  fire. 

"  To  present  you  with  her  Histoire  de  la  Revolu- 
tion de  1848." 

"  Has  she  dared  to  do  it?  " 

I  handed  him  the  volumes,  which  he  let  fall  from 
his  hands  on  to  the  bed. 

"  Who  has  authorized  her  to  insult  me  in  my 
prison?  "  he  cried  angrily. 

"  Blanqui,  be  calm,  be  calm,"  repeated  Pelletan. 

"  I  can  assure  you  that " 

[388] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


Blanqui  seized  the  volumes  and  threw  them  with 
all  his  might  at  my  feet. 

I  picked  them  up  slowly  and  laid  them  one  above 
the  other  in  my  left  hand.  Then  fixing  my  eyes  on 
his,  I  approached  the  bed  calmly  and  took  up  Mon 
Village,  and  when  I  was  very  near  to  him  said : 

"  You  are  not  a  Frenchman." 

Monsieur  Thiers  described  Blanqui  as  "  the 
cleverest  man  and  the  greatest  scoundrel  one  could 
meet."  No!  That  man,  with  that  face,  could 
never  be  a  scoundrel.  He  was  a  rebel,  and  he  had 
every  right  to  be  one,  and  he  was  an  extremely 
proud  man  who  could  not  master  his  wrath. 

When  I  related  the  scene  to  Madame  d'Agoult, 
she  was  at  first  most  indignant,  and  then  calmed 
down  and  said: 

"  He  would  not  have  done  that  if  he  had  read 
my  book." 

This  little  trip  in  the  severe  winter  did  me  much 
harm.  I  caught  an  exceedingly  bad  cold  and 
passed  my  New  Year's  day  in  a  miserable  manner, 
in  spite  of  my  delight  at  being  with  my  father 
and  daughter. 

I  worked  with  difficulty  at  that  time.  I  was  not 
ill,  but  had  an  annoying  cough  that  no  medicine 
would  calm,  and  I  felt  so  languid  I  had  courage 
for  nothing.     I  spit  a  little  blood,  but  I  did  not 

[389] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


tell  my  father  of  it  for  fear  of  frightening  him. 
But  I  determined  that  when  I  should  feel  a  little 
stronger  I  would  go  and  see  my  dear  Doctor 
Cabarrus. 

My  cousin,  Madame  Vilbort,  wrote  me  that  she 
thought  the  French  were  really  idiots !  She  was 
in  despair.  They  had  hissed  Wagner,  but  that 
might  be  excused,  for  he  was  a  foreigner,  and 
explained  on  the  ground  of  Parisian  incompre- 
hensibility. But  had  they  not  also  prevented 
About's  play  from  being  given  at  the  Odeon — 
About,  who  was  the  quintessence  of  Boulevard  wit 
and  originality  ?  "  Now  Gaetana  was  simply  per- 
fect," wrote  Madame  Vilbort ;  "  witty,  clever,  and 
fantastic,  and  combined  at  once  drama,  tragedy, 
and  comedy,  with  a  little  tinge  of  scepticism  and 
of  the  unexpected;  in  a  word,  all  that  in  which 
Paris  delights.  But  people  had  hooted  and  would 
listen  to  nothing.  The  young  Clericals  had  hissed 
the  anti-Clericalism  of  the  Palais-Royal  in  the  per- 
son of  Prince  Napoleon's  friend,  and  the  enemy  of 
temporal  power  in  About  himself ;  and,  on  the  other 
side,  the  young  Republicans  had  hissed  the  editor 
of  the  Moniteur,  the  friend  of  the  promoter  of  a 
Liberal  Empire." 

The  war  with  Mexico  excited  public  opinion  to 
the    most    intense    degree.     The    landing    of    the 

[390] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


French  troops  at  Vera  Cruz  set  all  manner  of  wild 
stories  afloat  regarding  dishonest  financial  ar- 
rangements, which  this  expedition  secretly  fa- 
voured. My  friends  wrote  me  so  many  different 
versions  about  it  that  my  series  of  various  opinions 
was  complete. 

I  felt  myself  growing  constantly  worse.  I  had 
a  fever  every  night,  and  the  blood-spitting  in- 
creased. How  should  I  ever  have  the  courage  to 
pain  my  father  by  telling  him  how  I  felt?  I  con- 
cluded that  I  must,  indeed,  be  very  ill. 

I  could  think  of  nothing  better  to  do  than  to 
write  to  my  old  friend  Arles-Dufour,  who  was  ever 
ready  to  prove  himself  the  "  best  of  fathers."  I 
begged  him  to  write  me  as  quickly  as  possible  a 
pressing  letter  which  I  could  show  to  my  family, 
calling  me  to  Paris  a  propos  of  my  separation  from 
my  husband.  I  asked  him  to  name  a  day  when 
it  might  be  feasible  for  him  to  come  to  Paris,  to 
meet  me  at  the  station,  and  to  take  me  to  see  Cabar- 
rus, so  that  I  might  know  whether  my  illness  was  a 
serious  one  or  not,  and  I  added : 

"  Father,  I  fear  I  am  dangerously  ill." 

I  received  by  return  mail  from  my  fatherly  and 
devoted  friend  a  favourable  answer  to  all  I  had 
asked. 

I  needed  great  courage  not  to  betray  my'emo- 

[391] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


tion  when  I  bade  my  father  and  daughter  good-bye. 
In  what  state  of  mind  should  I  be  on  my  return  if 
Cabarrus  told  me  the  truth,  and  supposing  there 
was  some  hopeless  truth  to  tell? 

I  started,  and  had  great  difficulty  in  the  icy-cold 
station  to  hide  from  my  father  my  handkerchief 
stained  with  blood.  My  daughter  saw  it,  and  was 
about  to  speak,  when  I  made  her  a  sign  which  the 
poor  little  thing  understood,  and  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  kept  silence.  As  I  got  into  the  railway-car- 
riage I  whispered  in  her  ear: 

"  I  am  going  to  Paris  to  try  to  get  well."  The 
train  had  scarcely  started  when  I  was  choked  with 
blood  and  had  a  real  haemorrhage.  I  should  have 
stopped  at  Noyon  and  gone  back  to  my  father, 
but  I  felt  I  was  more  and  more  in  danger,  and  I 
said  to  myself  that  I  would  find  a  cool-headed  doc- 
tor at  Paris,  whereas  at  Chauny  my  father  would 
be  out  of  his  senses,  my  mother's  lamentations 
would  add  to  my  nervousness,  and  that  I  would  be 
too  unhappy  at  seeing  my  little  Alice  suffer,  as 
she  always  suffered  when  any  of  us  was  ill. 

I  found  at  the  station  my  second  "  father," 
who  was  very  anxious  when  he  saw  me  look  so  ill. 
He  had  already  given  notice  to  Cabarrus  of  our 
coming  visit,  and  he  received  us  at  once. 

"  My  poor  friend,"  he  said,  "  go  home  at  once, 

[392] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


lie  down,  do  not  talk,  and  I  will  come  and  ex- 
amine you  more  thoroughly.  Where  are  you  stay- 
ing? " 

I  gave  him  my  address  in  the  Boulevard  Pois- 
soniere. 

"  That  is  fortunate,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  central, 
and  will  make  everything  easy." 

"  Everything  ?     What  ?  " 

"  Your  instant  departure  for  the  South." 

"  But " 

"  There  must  be  no  *  buts,'  "  said  my  "  second 
father."     "  You  must  do  what  Cabarrus  orders." 

"  Dear  Doctor,  I  want  to  know  if  I  am  danger- 
ously ill?    Tell  me  the  truth,  I  beg  of  you !  " 

"  Do  I  look  as  though  I  had  given  up  hope  of 
curing  you?  You  are  ill;  you  must  take  care  of 
yourself,  and,  above  all,  stop  talking." 

My  old  friend  took  me  to  an  hotel,  left  a  maid 
to  take  care  of  me,  and  went  off  to  seek  help  from 
my  friends. 

He  went  to  Madame  Vilbort,  who  lived  near  to 
me,  and  then  to  the  Siecle  for  Louis  Jourdan,  and 
to  the  Comptoir  d'Escompte  for  Edmond  Adam. 

Madame  Vilbort  came  and  would  not  leave  me. 
Jourdan  promised  to  write  a  pressing  letter  to 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Jean  Re3rnaud,  who  were 
at  Cannes,  and  to  procure  two  letters  from  Renou- 

[393] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


vier  and  from  Pelletan.  Arles-Dufour  commis- 
sioned Edmond  Adam  to  see  Monsieur  Thiers,  and 
to  get  a  letter  from  him  recommending  me  to  the 
care  of  his  old  college  friend,  Doctor  Maure  of 
Grasse,  the  most  influential  and  the  highest  medical 
authority  on  the  Riviera.  Adam  was  to  inform 
Madame  d'Agoult  of  my  departure,  so  that  she 
might  come  to  bid  me  good-bye.  My  dear  fatherly 
Arles-Dufour  saw  Enfantin  and  asked  him  for  a 
railway  compartment  where  I  might  be  made  com- 
fortable for  the  journey.  Enfantin  was  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Paris-Lyons-Mediterranean  Railway 
Company. 

After  a  while  Arles-Dufour  returned  and  told 
me  what  he  had  done,  and  that  he  should  only  write 
to  my  father  the  next  morning,  so  that  my  family 
might  do  nothing  to  hinder  my  departure.  I  had 
no  longer  any  will  left  for  myself,  and  was  only  too 
thankful  just  to  cast  myself  on  the  care  of  the 
kindest  of  "  fathers." 

No  one  who  had  not  seen  Arles-Dufour  planning 
a  proselyting  campaign,  an  act  of  charity,  or  the 
rescue  of  some  unfortunate  person,  could  have  an 
idea  of  how  much  can  be  thought  of  in  a  few  hours 
and  the  advantage  one  can  take  of  what  is  under 
one's  hand. 

Thiers  gave  the  letter  to  Doctor  Maure  without 
delay.  [  394  ] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


"  That  is  good,"  said  Arles-Dufour,  who,  how- 
ever, detested  "  the  little  protectionist  man."  "  I 
knew  that  he  liked  you  very  much,  Adam,  and  that 
is  why  I  selected  you  as  emissary." 

"  Might  I  ask,  my  dear  Aries,  who  is  to  accom- 
pany Madame  Juliette  Lamber  to  Cannes?  "  said 
Edmond  Adam. 

"  I,  and  you  also,  if  you  choose." 

"  I  am  quite  willing.     When  do  you  start?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning  at  nine  o'clock,  and  be- 
tween now  and  then  you  must  find  us  a  nice  maid." 

"  I  will  give  you  my  cook,  who  has  been  a  maid, 
and  for  whom  I  can  vouchsafe." 

"  Then,  in  that  case,  we  are  quite  ready. 
Nothing  more  is  wanting." 

Cabarrus  then  came,  bringing  me  some  medicine. 

I  was  again  choked  with  blood.   .   .  . 

Madame  d'Agoult  and  de  Ronchaud  came  in, 
but  only  stayed  a  moment,  for  Cabarrus,  seeing  how 
agitated  I  was,  sent  them  away. 

Jourdan  brought  me  his  letter  and  one  from 
Renouvier  for  Jean  Reynaud,  and  Pelletan  sent 
his  the  same  evening  from  the  prison  of  Sainte- 
Pelagie. 

Cabarrus's  medicine  put  me  to  sleep,  and  I 
scarcely  remembered  anything  that  happened  until 
I  found  myself  comfortably  installed  in  the  rail- 
26  [  395  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


way-carriage,  where  the  "  father "  and  Edmond 
Adam,  whom  I  had  at  first  so  disliked,  and  who  had 
afterward  grown  so  dear  to  me,  were  taking  care 
of  me  with  such  kindness  and  devotion  that  I 
wanted  to  thank  them  every  minute,  but  I  was  not 
allowed  to  speak. 

It  was  snowing  hard.  At  Lyons  Madame  Arles- 
Dufour,  to  whom  her  husband  had  announced  my 
arrival,  came  to  kiss  me,  and  called  me  "  her  daugh- 
ter," and  said  she  hoped  on  my  return  to  see  me  at 
Oullins.  I  burst  into  tears,  and  Arles-Dufour  hur- 
ried her  out  of  the  railway-carriage. 

We  soon  arrived  at  Toulon,  and  I  could  look  at 
the  sea  from  the  hotel  where  we  stopped.  The  sun 
came  pouring  in  through  the  open  windows,  and 
outside  all  was  blue.  I  had  always  fancied  that 
"  azured  Greece  "  must  look  like  this.  I  took  long 
breaths,  in  order  to  inhale  this  blue  ether.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  it  would  ease  my  chest  and  stop 
the  flow  of  blood,  of  which  my  mouth  was  always 
full.  I  thought  that  I  already  felt  the  good  effects 
of  this  pure  air,  and  I  wrote  in  a  pretty  little  note- 
book given  to  me  by  Cabarrus  my  impressions  of 
the  instantaneous  benefit  I  was  deriving  from  this 
medical  treatment,  which  caused  a  laugh  among 
my  friends. 

It  took  two  days  to  go  by  carriage  to  Cannes,  as 

[396] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


the  railway  did  not  then  go  farther  than  Toulon. 
The  next  year  it  was  built  as  far  as  Arcs. 

We  arrived  at  our  destination  in  the  evening,  and 
the  next  morning  Doctor  Maure,  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Jean  Reynaud,  to  whom  "  the  father  " 
had  written  from  Toulon,  came  to  see  me  and  "  to 
take  possession  of  my  person,"  as  Arles-Dufour 
said,  for  both  he  and  Adam  were  obliged  to  leave 
the  same  evening. 

My  friends  had  no  sooner  left  me  than  I  had  a 
fierce  battle  to  fight  with  Doctor  Maure,  who  wished 
to  send  me  to  Cannes. 

"  I  won't  go  where  Rachel  died.  It  would  make 
me  feel  as  though  I  were  going  to  die  too.  I  want 
to  see  the  ocean  and  to  breathe  the  salt  air;  that 
alone  can  save  me." 

I  wrote  this  in  my  note-book  for  Doctor  Maure 
to  read. 

"  The  sea  will  kill  you,"  he  replied,  angrily. 

Oh !  if  only  I  could  talk,  I  could  easily  convince 
my  new  friends  that  they  are  wrong  in  decreeing 
that  I  must  go  to  Cannes.  My  written  words  are 
too  cold  to  convince  them. 

It  began  to  rain,  and  the  sea  that  had  looked  so 
blue  at  Toulon  was  now  covered  with  mist.  I  sent 
out  my  nice  maid  from  Bordeaux  to  look  for  a 
small  furnished  apartment. 

[397] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


She  was  the  only  person  who  thought  I  was 
right.     She  soon  returned,  having  found  one. 

"  You  will  be  able  to  look  at  the  sea  and  the 
islands." 

"  Go  quickly  and  set  the  little  place  in  order." 

She  spent  the  afternoon  cleaning  it,  and  that 
same  evening,  after  Doctor  Maure  had  left,  saying 
that  he  would  "  carry  me  off  "  to  Cannes  the  next 
morning,  I  left  the  hotel  and  took  up  my  abode  in 
the  apartment. 

During  the  afternoon  I  had  posted  a  letter  to 
Doctor  Maure  at  Grasse,  and  another  to  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Reynaud.  The  next  morning  they 
would  all  know  my  new  address.  It  was  a  "  coup 
d'etat." 

The  two  rooms  and  the  drawing-room  of  my  small 
apartment  faced  due  south,  and  were  as  full  of 
sunshine  as  the  rooms  at  Toulon.  There  was  no 
more  mist  on  the  sea  and  the  sky  was  ethereally  blue. 
My  new  friends  did  not  appear,  but  wrote  me  se- 
vere letters.  The  next  day  Jean  Reynaud  came  to 
see  me  and  found  me  sitting  by  the  open  window 
drinking  in  the  sea  air. 

He  asked  me  if  I  wished  to  commit  suicide,  and 
if  my  life  were  so  distasteful  to  me  that  I  wanted 
to  leave  it? 

I  answered  him  by  writing  on  my  little  note- 
book: [398] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


"  No,  I  want  to  live  for  my  dear  ones  and  for  my 
friends,  gifts  from  the  gods,  whom  I  worship  and 
love." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  sadly,  and  left  me 
without  a  word  of  farewell. 

During  the  following  week  I  received  disapprov- 
ing letters  from  Cabarrus,  Arles-Dufour,  Edmond 
Adam,  and  Madame  d'Agoult.  Neither  Doctor 
Maure  nor  Monsieur  and  Madame  Reynaud  had 
sent  to  inquire  about  me.  They  were  waiting, 
as  Doctor  Maure  wrote  me,  "  for  me  to  repent  and 
send  for  them." 

The  weather  was  splendid.  I  spent  all  my  days, 
during  the  hours  of  sunshine,  lying  on  the  sand 
by  the  seashore.  At  first  I  felt  more  intense  burn- 
ing in  my  throat  and  chest,  but  by  degrees  my  lips 
were  less  suffused  with  blood  and  my  fever  dimin- 
ished. 

I  wrote  this  to  Doctor  Maure,  who  came  in  one 
morning  like  a  whirlwind. 

"  Well,  Doctor,  I  feel  better.  I  have  had  no 
more  blood-spitting  since  yesterday  morning." 

"  Is  it  possible?  " 

"  I  assure  you  it  is,  and  you  see  I  can  talk  with 
impunity." 

"  It  is  most  extraordinary." 

"  No,  the  sea  has  cauterized  me." 

[399] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  That  just  expresses  it.  Put  on  your  hat;  my 
carriage  is  below ;  I  am  going  to  breakfast  with 
Jean  Reynaud,  and  I  will  take  you  with  me." 

"  But " 

"  No  more  '  buts  '  or  I  shall  lose  my  temper." 

We  accordingly  drove  to  the  Reynauds,  where 
we  found  Lord  Brougham.  The  surprise  produced 
by  my  entrance  can  be  imagined.  Doctor  Maure 
told  them  what  I  had  done  and  the  miraculous  bene- 
fit I  had  derived  from  my  own  way  of  curing  my- 
self. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Lord  Brougham ;  "  it  does  not  as- 
tonish me.  There  is  an  English  physician  who  has 
begun  to  treat  patients  suffering  from  chest  dis- 
eases by  sending  them  to  make  sea  voyages." 

I  had  really  thought  I  was  condemned  to  die, 
and  I  now  felt  myself  returning  to  life  and  health 
as  though  in  a  dream. 

What  I  had  always  been  seeking  for  since  my 
childhood  was  reality,  and  my  impotent  imagina- 
tion had  never  been  able  to  find  it.  But  now  I  saw 
this  light,  this  country,  these  flowers,  and  they  all 
sang  in  my  heart  a  Homeric  psalm.  There  it  was, 
in  very  truth,  that  sea,  which  does  not  eat  or  wear 
away  the  earth,  but  which  only  sobs  gently  as  it 
incessantly  recedes  from  it.     Was  I  not  in  Greece? 

I  had  never  realized  what  Madame  d'Agoult  had 

[400] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


often  described  to  me,  nor  what  Homer  had  sung 
about  it.    At  last  I  really  sav  it ! 

Phoebus  Apollo,  radiant  and  dazzling,  rose  and 
set  in  the  ocean  like  a  god.  One  day  I  fancied  I 
could  see  through  the  floods  of  light  that  streamed 
from  his  locks,  the  golden  wheels  of  his  chariot, 
and  the  shining  nostrils  of  his  horses  that  scent  and 
devour  space. 

In  answer  to  my  father's  long  letters  I  had  only 
written  short  notes.  Neither  Cabarrus  nor  Arles- 
Dufour  nor  Madame  d'Agoult  had  said  anything 
to  make  him  anxious.  As  soon  as  I  was  better  I  set 
his  mind  quite  at  rest  about  myself,  and  told  him 
at  great  length  of  my  Grecian  impressions. 

I  sent  Aunt  Sophie  descriptive  Virgilian  land- 
scapes. My  little  Alice  sent  me  word  through  my 
father  that  she  wished  "  to  see  with  Mama  the 
bright  sun  and  the  trees  ladened  with  oranges."  I 
replied  that  I  promised  to  bring  her  with  me  next 

winter. 

My  correspondence  was  voluminous,  but  I  never 

wearied   relating   the   surprises   which   this   lovely 

azure  shore  gave  me,  and  the  ecstasy  with  which 

it  inspired  me. 

I  finished  my  Recits  d'une  Paysanne,  the  short 

stories   which  had  all  been  taken,   thanks   to  my 

devoted  friend,  Madame  d'Agoult;  and,  while  Het- 

[401  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


zel  was  having  them  printed,  I  began  another  vol- 
ume, compiled  from  what  I  saw  daily  around  me: 
Mon  Voyage  Autour  du  Grand  Pin. 

I  was  a  happy  woman,  for  soon  I  had  a  third 
father,  "  my  Cannes  papa,"  Jean  Reynaud,  who, 
in  writing  to  Arles-Dufour  and  to  my  father,  had 
assumed  this  title  himself. 

All  things  spoke  to  me  of  my  gods,  and  I  talked 
constantly  of  them,  to  the  great  scandal  of  the 
author  of  La  Terre  et  Ciel  and  of  Madame  Rey- 
naud, who  was  very  religious,  and  who  was  shocked 
at  my  paganism.  But  both  my  friends  were  kind, 
noble,  and  possessed  essentially  elevated  minds. 
They  tried  to  snatch  me  from  the  errors  of 
materiality  and  to  sow  in  my  mind  the  good  seed 
of  spirituality,  which  was  to  bring  forth  fruit  in 
after  years. 

While  Jean  Reynaud,  on  the  terrace  of  his  villa 
at  La  Bocca,  talked  to  me  of  Heaven,  and,  as  I 
expressed  it,  "  put  on  his  wings,"  Madame  Rey- 
naud, who  was  one  of  Chopin's  most  distinguished 
pupils,  sat  near  the  opened  window  and,  accom- 
panied by  the  far-off  murmur  of  the  sea,  played 
Beethoven's  sonatas,  works  of  the  master  her  be- 
loved philosopher  preferred  above  all  others. 

The  perfume  of  the  roses,  the  violets,  and  the 

[  402  ] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


early  orange-blossoms  intoxicated  me,  and  I  no 
longer  wondered  at  belief  in  a  Hereafter,  when  life 
on  this  Mediterranean  shore  was  so  luminous,  com- 
pared to  gloomy  Chauny  and  foggy  Paris. 

"  I  recognise  in  every  one,"  Jean  Reynaud  said 
to  me,  "  the  right  of  absolute  sovereignty  over  his 
own  mind.  To  believe  what  one  wishes  to  believe 
is  a  primal  rule  on  condition  that  man's  conscience 
prompts  him  to  ameliorate,  edify,  regenerate,  and 
elevate  religiously  that  in  which  he  believes.  There 
is  too  much  poetry  and  not  enough  divine  elevation 
in  your  pagan  religion,"  he  added. 

The  profoundly  grateful  letters  my  father  had 
written  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  Reynaud  had 
touched  their  hearts,  and  they  really  felt  something 
more  than  simple  friendship  for  me.  Having  no 
children  of  their  own,  they  adopted  me. 

Although  Jean  Reynaud  had  separated  from 
Enfantin  before  the  establishment  of  the  School 
at  Menilmontant,  he  had  been  condemned  to  prison 
in  the  lawsuit  brought  against  the  Saint-Simonians 
for  outrage  to  public  morality,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  without  his  knowledge  his  name  had 
appeared  in  a  joint  letter  of  the  defenders  of  En- 
fantin and  of  his  forty  sons.  He  founded,  together 
with  Pierre  Leroux,  the  Encyclopedie  Nouvelle, 
and  it  was  the  articles  he  had  written  in  the  Ency- 

[403] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


clopedie,  which  he  had  compiled  in  book  form  under 
the  title  of  Terre  et  Ciel,  that  were  condemned  by 
the  Council  of  Perigueux.  Jean  Reynaud  was 
elected  Deputy  for  the  Department  of  Moselle, 
and  was  afterward  made  Under-Secretary  of  Public 
Instruction  under  Carnot.  In  1849  he  became 
Councillor  of  State,  which  post  he  resigned  after 
the  Second  of  December.  According  to  his  annual 
custom,  Henri  Martin  came  to  spend  a  few  days  at 
the  Villa  of  La  Bocca,  and  it  was  a  veritable  treat 
to  hear  him  talk  of  ancient  Gaul  with  Jean  Rey- 
naud, who  was  a  true  son  of  Gaul  himself,  fond  of 
daring  adventure,  always  ready  to  brave  death,  and 
feeling  only  attraction  for  it,  because,  according 
to  his  serene  belief,  death  was  only  a  halting-place 
in  the  soul's  journey  through  the  infinite. 

The  founder  and  editor  of  Le  Magasin  Pitta- 
resque,  Edouard  Charton,  lived  near  Cannes,  at 
Cannet,  for  which  I  had  had  such  dread.  He  also 
often  came  to  the  Villa  of  La  Bocca.  He  was  a 
friend  and  like  a  brother  to  Jean  Reynaud,  for 
both  of  them  had  been  early  imbued  with  the  same 
ideal  Saint-Simonian  doctrine  and  with  Republi- 
canism. 

The  friendship  of  these  two  exceptionally  high- 
toned  men  was  a  moral  tonic  to  all  those  who  came 
under  its  influence.     Jean  Reynaud  said,  in  speak- 

[  404] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


ing  of  Charton :  "  He  has  always  done  good  and 
never  done  evil."  And  Charton  said  of  Jean  Rey- 
naud:  "I  can  never  follow  his  soul,  it  soars  too 
high." 

After  Henri  Martin  had  left,  Legouve  arrived. 
What  a  contrast  there  was  between  these  two  men, 
who  could  be,  however,  compared  in  an  identical 
general  way !  Both  were  loyal  and  patriotic,  and 
their  aspirations,  their  thoughts,  their  feelings, 
their  conception  of  honour,  were  essentially  those  of 
true  Frenchmen.  Henri  Martin  was,  like  Legouve, 
the  stanchest  of  friends,  and  always  ready  to  prove 
his  friendship.  Apart  from  this,  Henri  Martin 
and  Legouve  were  entirely  dissimilar.  The  first 
looked  like  an  untidy  countryman,  awkward,  un- 
gainly, and  large-featured.  The  only  attraction 
about  him  was  his  simplicity,  his  good-nature,  and 
the  confidence  he  inspired  in  others  by  the  sincerity 
in  his  physiognomy.  Legouve  was  comely;  his 
features  were  refined ;  his  manners  were  perfect ;  he 
fully  realized  the  idea  of  what  was  called  later,  "  a 
man  of  select  society."  Democracy  needs  to  ripen 
and  does  not  produce  its  aristocracy  until  after  a 
long  time.  Morality  is  the  fruit  that  we  should 
especially  cultivate.  No  man  leaving  an  inferior 
sphere  of  life  to  enter  into  a  higher  one,  can  become 
thoroughly  refined  in  a  day,  even  should  he  seem 

[  405  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


to  be  such.  He  may  be  able  to  catch  the  tone,  but 
he  fails  in  acquiring  ease  of  manner.  Several  gen- 
erations of  distinguished  men  had  contributed  to 
making  Legouve  what  he  was. 

Jean  Reynaud  often  said  that  "  if  all  the  French 
bourgeois  were  like  Legouve — thorouglily  good- 
mannered,  liberal,  generous,  well-balanced  in  their 
minds,  and  brave  men — then,  truly,  they  would 
have  reaped  that  appanage  which  they  had  wrested 
from  the  nobility,  and  which  the  Revolution  had 
legalized.  Legouve,"  continued  Reynaud,  "  is  a 
man  superior  in  morality  to  any  one  I  know,  even 
to  Charton.     He  is  a  transcendental  moral  genius." 

Legouve  was  a  rare  writer  and  a  remarkable  con- 
versationalist. Distinction  and  dignified  kindliness 
were  the  most  striking  qualities  in  his  character. 
An  inexplicable  charm,  mixed  with  a  slight  degree 
of  feminality,  seemed  also  to  dominate  in  him. 
But,  on  the  contrary,  his  charm  of  manner  sprang 
from  his  studied  benevolence,  from  his  sure  dis- 
crimination of  things,  from  his  faithfulness  in 
friendship  and  from  the  surety  of  his  opinions; 
and  this  combination  of  qualities  made  him  gentle 
and  at  peace  with  himself,  courteous  to  others,  and 
calmly  cheerful  in  his  own  life.  No  one  could 
know  Legouve  without  respecting  him  and  loving 
him  profoundly.     He  was  truth  personified. 

[406] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


Madame  Jean  Reynaud  and  I  were  very  curious 
to  know  about  Madame  Ristori,  and  when  we  ques- 
tioned Legouve  concerning  her,  he  spoke  with  the 
highest  admiration  of  her  talent  and  with  the 
greatest  respect  for  her  character. 

Two  of  Legouve's  colleagues  of  the  Academy 
were  at  Cannes — Prosper  Merimee  and  Victor 
Cousin — whom  Jean  Reynaud  did  not  see  on  ac- 
count of  his  Republican  opinions.  Legouve  liked 
them  both,  although  he  thought  the  one  too  cold, 
too  reserved  and  selfish,  and  the  other  too  verbose. 
But  at  this  he  only  hinted. 

Jean  Reynaud  often  teased  Legouve  about  his 
"  excessively  juvenile  "  appearance.  He  was  so 
slight  and  active,  and  he  was  so  coquettishly  dig- 
nified ! 

It  was  at  Senneport,  Legouve's  country-seat, 
where  Jean  Reynaud  always  spent  a  few  weeks 
every  year,  that  he  met  his  wife,  who  lived  near 
Legouve  and  was  a  young  and  mystical  widow, 
determined  never  to  marry  again.  Jean  Reynaud 
and  she  were  both  living  in  dreamland  when  they 
met. 

No  one  whom  I  ever  knew  understood  to  a  higher 
degree  what  a  wife's  duty  should  be  than  Madame 
Reynaud.  I  have  heard  sublime  and  touching 
things  expressed  by  her.    Jean  Reynaud  had  given 

[407] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


up  Saint-Simonian  because  it  lessened  family  re- 
spectability, for  domestic  happiness  and  duty  in 
conjugal  relations  were  matters  for  which  he  pro- 
fessed the  highest  respect. 

Vacherot  sent  me  his  book,  which,  although  it 
had  been  published  two  years  before,  had  just  been 
seized  by  the  police.     As  he  was  aware  that  Jean 
Reynaud  had  not  read  it,  he  begged  me  to  give 
him,  in  his  name,  a  copy  of  his  Democratic    Vache- 
rot professed  in  this  book  to  care  only  for  philoso- 
phy, but  he  wrote  most  competently  in  it  both  of 
politics  and  the  social  movement.    Being  excessively 
malevolent  in  character,  Vacherot's  writings  were 
chiefly  criticisms.     Accordingly  in  La  Democratie 
he  divided  his  friends  into  classes,  so  that  he  might 
the  more  easily  ill  treat  them  all  in  turn.    He  cata- 
logued some  as  Liberals  and  reproached  these  for 
not   being   Democrats,    and   others    as   Democrats 
whom  he  reproached  for  not  being  Liberals.     His 
definition  of  the  idea  of  a  State  was  the  following : 
"  A  State  may  centralize  individual  energy  and  set 
it  to  work,  but  never  at  any  time  should  it  use  its 
own  particular  right  in  contradiction  to  individual 
right.     The  State  should  intervene  to  enforce  re- 
spect  for  individual  rights.      This   should  be  its 
first  duty."     How  often  have  I  listened  to  discus- 
sions on  this  subject  between  Dupont- White  and 

[408] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


Vacherot.  Their  quarrels  were  sharp,  but  when 
over,  each  one  would  acknowledge  to  the  other  that 
they  were  both  of  one  mind  on  the  main  point,  and 
that  the  State,  to  which  they  allotted  a  large  de- 
gree of  power,  was,  in  their  opinion,  a  result  and 
not  a  cause  in  itself,  as  Louis  XIV  had  wished  it 
to  be  when  he  said,  "L'Etat,  e'est  moi." 

One  could  understand  that  Vacherot  overcame 
his  bitterness  of  character  with  difficulty,  for,  in 
1851,  when  he  was  head  master  at  the  Ecole  Nor- 
male,  he  was  dismissed,  the  Abbe  Gratry  having 
found  his  books  heretical  and  blasphemous.  All 
his  pupils  went  to  bid  him  good-bye,  and  Taine 
made  him  an  address  in  their  collective  name. 
Among  Vacherot's  former  pupils  were  numbered 
the  flower  of  French  writers  and  thinkers.  Emile 
Deschanel,  Caro,  Paul  Janet,  Gaston  Boissier,  Pas- 
teur, Challemel-Lacour,  Alfred  Mezieres,  Assolant, 
Perraud  (who  later  was  made  a  cardinal),  About, 
Sarcey,  I.  I.  Weiss,  Prevost-Paradol,  Greard,  and 
many  others  noted  in  letters. 

Jean  Reynaud  read  La  Democratic  and  wrote 
a  charming  letter  to  the  author.  Vacherot  was 
under  the  impression  that  he  owed  something  of 
this  to  me.  He  was  very  justly  proud  of  his  own 
merits  as  a  writer. 

I  went  one  day  to  Grasse  to  breakfast  at  the 

[409] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


house  of  Doctor  Maure  with  my  friends,  among 
whom  were  Charton  and  Garnier-Pages,  the  latter 
then  being  at  Cannet.  Doctor  Maure  took  me  to 
see  the  wonderful  Fragonards  which  the  painter  in 
vogue  before  the  Revolution  had  hidden  there  in 
a  room  that  was  always  kept  shut.  Fragonard 
painted  Revolutionary  emblems  in  the  corridors  to 
dispel  the  idea  that  there  could  be  any  charm- 
ing little  ladies  depicted  there  to  offend  the 
strait-laced.  After  his  fall  Fragonard  took 
shelter  in  this  family  mansion,  where  he  con- 
soled himself  for  his  misfortunes  by  teaching  his 
son  painting. 

When  I  visited  the  Fragonard  dwelling  it  was 
still  in  the  possession  of  two  elderly  maiden  ladies 
distantly  related  to  Doctor  Maure.  Every  one  had 
been,  or  was,  anxious  to  purchase  these  pictures.  I 
came  myself  several  years  later  on  behalf  of  my 
old  friend  Sechan  to  offer  the  ladies  five  hundred 
thousand  francs  for  their  four  panels  to  be  re- 
placed by  four  pictures  from  the  brush  of  four  of 
the  greatest  living  painters  that  they  might  care 
to  choose. 

The  old  ladies  answered  me  thus : 

"  We  have  enough  to  live  upon,  and  our  only 
distraction  is  seeing  the  distinguished  visitors  who 
come  to  admire  our  pictures.    We  should  no  longer 

[  410  ] 


MY    HEALTH    FAILS 


be  any  one  if  we  sold  them,  while  now  we  are  of 
some  importance — '  the  ladies  of  the  Frago- 
nards.'  " 

I  agreed  with  them  in  spite  of  my  defeat. 


27 


[411  ] 


CHAPTER    XVI 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 


mETZEL  and  Bixio  both  write  that  they  have 
interested  Merimee  in  me,  and  that  I  may 
expect  his  arrival  at  my  house.  What  will  Jean 
Reynaud  say  if  he  comes?  Bixio  is  Merimee's  most 
intimate  friend,  and  rumour  says  the  latter's  residu- 
ary legatee.  "  Bixio  is  indestructible,"  says  Meri- 
mee incessantly,  so  Hetzel  told  me  several  times. 
"  Death  had  a  fine  opportunity  to  take  him  in  1848, 
but  would  not;  he  will  outlive  us  all." 

In  spite  of  the  opinion  held  by  Hetzel  and  Bixio, 
I  considered  Merimee  a  prig,  cold,  sarcastic,  and 
sceptical;  he  was  usually  so  described,  and  I  was 
rather  in  awe  of  him. 

We  (Merimee  and  I)  lived  at  opposite  ends  of 
the  Cours.  He  appeared  three  days  after  the  an- 
nouncement of  his  visit,  and,  without  any  preamble, 
said  to  me : 

"  You  are  a  young  person  whom  Hetzel  and 
Bixio  have  already  made  me  like.  Old  Maure,  too, 
has  greatly  interested  me  in  your  stubbornness.  I 
am  thankful  for  your  recovery.     You  have  taken 

[412] 


PROSPER  MERIMEE 

D'apres  une  litto6raplne  dc  Dcvcria 


PROSPER   MERIMEE. 

From  a  lithograph  by  de  Deveria. 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

it  by  storm.  I  only  believe  in  the  sea,  in  the  sea," 
he  added  in  caressing  tones,  and  with  a  tender  look. 
"  I  have  read  your  Nouvelle  Paysanne  in  the  De- 
bats.  It  is  so  good  that  it  shows  better  may  be 
done.  I  will  teach  the  secrets  of  building  to  the 
foreman  if  he  aspires  to  become  an  architect.  I 
know  you  have  perpetrated  some  Idees  Anti-Proud- 
honiennes.  I  will  not  read  those.  They  are  not 
for  women." 

"  Oh !  with  regard  to  women,  we  shall  not  agree. 
You  are  too  hard  upon  them — unkind  even." 

"  We  have  come  to  such  words  already !  What 
will  you  say  to  me  upon  my  twentieth  visit  ?  Also, 
it  is  better  to  settle  matters  at  once.  I  have  been 
hard  upon  women,  when  they  were  too  good 
to  me.  To-day  they  are  no  longer  at  all  good 
to  me,  and  I  am  less  .  .  .  unkind.  Let  us 
speak  frankly.  Have  I  taken  up  a  position  pleas- 
ing to  you?  " 

"  Quite." 

"  We  shall  become  friends  ?  " 

"  We  are  already." 

"  Legouve  and  Maure  will  be  glad,  but  Jean 
Reynaud  will  not  admit  it." 

"  Oh,  yes !  " 

"Oh,  no!" 

Nearly  every  evening  I  stayed  and  dined  at  the 

[  413] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Bocca,  and  was  brought  home,  sometimes  by  Jean 
Reynaud,  sometimes  by  one  of  his  old  friends, 
a  neighbour,  who  goes  off  to  his  club  at  nine 
o'clock. 

Madame  Jean  Reynaud  was  absorbed  in  her  gar- 
den and  scarcely  ever  went  out.  Jean  Reynaud 
often  came  to  fetch  me  in  the  afternoon ;  he  was 
very  fond  of  walking,  and  we  rambled  over  the 
mountain.  He  liked  to  talk ;  I  liked  to  listen.  My 
Voyage  Autour  du  Grand  Pin  was  half  evolved 
during  these  conversations. 

Little  by  little  he  told  me  of  his  infancy  and 
youth.  I  could  to-day  write  his  "  memoirs,"  so 
plentiful  are  the  notes  I  took  of  what  he  told  me, 
and  so  much  do  I  remember. 

Here  are  a  few  of  the  souvenirs  I  gleaned : 

When  Jean  Reynaud  was  at  the  Polytechnique, 
Charles  X  came  one  day  to  visit  the  school,  accom- 
panied by  the  Due  d'Angouleme,  who  questioned 
the  pupils  upon  their  calling.  Jean  Reynaud  an- 
swered : 

"  I  intend  to  go  into  the  Artillery." 

"  Sire !  Sire !  "  cried  the  Duke ;  "  here  is  a  young 
man  who  intends  to  go  into  the  Artillery." 

Jean  Reynaud  was  already  a  Republican.  The 
King  came  up  and  said  to  Reynaud: 

"  You  will  fire  guns?  " 

[  414] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jean,  grimly,  "  I  will  not  fail  to, 
should  opportunity  arise." 

They  were  informed  that  Jean  Reynaud  was  a 
pupil  of  Merlin  de  Thionville. 

The  Due  d'Angouleme  said  to  Gay-Lussac 
a  propos  of  his  balloon  ascent : 

"  You  ascended  to  a  very  great  height,  it  seems, 
sir?  " 

"  Yes,  your  Grace." 

"  And  was  it  very  hot?  " 

"  No,  your  Grace,  it  was  cold." 

"  Ah !  was  the  sun  large?  " 

"  I  did  not  reach  high  enough,  your  Grace,  to 
be  able,  relatively  to  its  distance,  to  perceive  it." 

"  And  were  there  many  birds  up  there,  sir?  ': 

"  I  did  not  see  a  single  one  that  day." 

One  of  the  professors,  Monsieur  Leroy,  had  not 
yet  obtained  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour, 
and  desired  to  do  so  by  impressing  the  King  with 
his  answers.  Charles  X  questioned  him  upon  some 
little  astronomical  models. 

"  How  very  remarkable !  "  said  the  King.  "  Are 
these  made  by  the  pupils?    They  are  charming." 

"  Yes,  Sire.  They  are  to  teach  them  the  square 
of  revolutions." 

The  courtiers  turned  away. 

"  Extremely  pretty,  sir." 

[415] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Sire,  in  the  revolving  motions  of  the 
Sbcirs  •   «   • 

The  King  walked  off. 

At  the  time  of  the  War  of  Independence  in 
Greece  Jean  Reynaud  was  delegated  by  the 
"  School  "  and  saw  for  the  first  time  Pere  Enfantin, 
who  headed  a  subscription  list.  The  "  School " 
subscribed  a  handsome  sum  for  guns.  Pere  En- 
fantin was  anxious  to  send  out  doctors. 

"  I  will  not  pay  a  penny,"  said  Jean  Reynaud, 
and  took  the  money  back  again. 

I  was  especially  anxious  that  Jean  Reynaud 
should  tell  me  about  his  split  with  Pere  Enfantin, 
but  I  dared  not  question  him. 

Nevertheless,  I  told  him  one  day  of  the  step 
taken  in  Pere  Enfantin's  name  by  my  future  dearly 
loved  "  Father  "  Arles-Dufour  and  Lambert-Bey, 
to  give  me  a  dinner  and  proclaim  me  "  the  woman 
legislator." 

We  were  on  the  hill  above  his  villa,  climbing,  I 
behind  him,  a  fairly  steep  path.  He  turned 
sharply  to  me  and  said : 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Aries  dared  to  ask  you  that  ? 
I  am  surprised  at  nothing  Lambert-Bey  may  do; 
he  is  a  slave;  but  Aries,  brave  and  loyal,  whom  I 
deemed  untouched  by  the  unfortunate  moral  influ- 
ence of  Enfantin.     I  am  stunned !  " 

[416] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

"  When  it  is  a  question  of  the  principles  of  the 
School,  Arles-Dufour  upholds  them  all,  and  is  not 
the  '  woman  legislator  '  a  principle  ?  " 

Jean  Reynaud  leaned  against  an  olive-tree  and 
made  me  sit  down. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  "  it  is  a  principle — one  of 
Enfantin's  own.  Listen,  my  dear  child ;  why  should 
I  not  speak  to  you  of  those  things,  the  greater  por- 
tion of  which  will  be  published  after  my  death,  but 
respecting  which  I  must  warn  you,  so  that  you 
never  fall  into  the  clutches  of  Enfantin,  that  moral 
weakener,  the  worst  I  have  ever  met.  I  tell  you 
that  the  most  odious  part  of  Enfantin's  manoeuvres 
to  dominate  the  soul  of  his  disciples  was  to  destroy 
their  conjugal  happiness,  to  prove  to  them  that  all 
wives,  even  their  own,  were  ripe  for  emancipation, 
for  free-love.  Many  are  the  ruptures  made  by  En- 
fantin's order  which  I  have  healed,  and  numerous 
are  the  scandals  I  have  managed  to  avert.  The  so- 
called  '  Pere  '  sent  to  the  wives  men  resolved  to 
seduce  them  by  every  means,  then  to  betray  their 
secrets  to  Enfantin,  who  forced  the  luckless  ones 
publicly  to  confess  their  faults. 

"  One  of  the  most  awful  scenes,  the  most  fearful 
tortures,  I  witnessed  decided  me  to  break  with  the 
School. 

"  One  day  Enfantin  rose  and  said : 

[417] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  '  Providence  has  willed  that  I  should  be  sur- 
rounded by  none  but  deceived  husbands.' 

"  Bazard  rose  in  indignation.  His  wife  was  ad- 
mirable, devoted,  brave  and  proud.  She  was  irre- 
proachable. Very  pale,  he  protested  against  the 
insult  offered  by  Enfantin  to  all  the  husbands 
round  him. 

Slowly  Enfantin  pronounced  the  words: 
Even  you ' 


a 


a 


Bazard  uttered  a  despairing  cry  which  wrung 
my  heart;  he  fell  back  upon  his  seat;  then  sud- 
denly, with  wild  eye  and  livid  countenance,  rose 
and,  reeling  like  a  drunken  man,  left  the  room.  I 
followed  to  help  him  in  this  terrible  trial. 

"  Like  myself,  Bazard  revolted  against  the  con- 
ceit and  power  of  Enfantin.  By  means  of  ruses, 
snares,  falsehoods,  the  relation  of  which  would  seem 
impossible  to  you,  a  seducer  sent  to  Madame  Bazard 
had  imposed  upon  her,  pursued  her,  assailed  her  in 
such  manner,  threatening  those  dear  to  her  with 
vengeance,  danger,  even  death,  that,  maddened, 
Madame  Bazard  yielded.  In  my  presence  the  mis- 
erable woman  made  her  confession.  My  heart  still 
aches  at  the  recollection. 

"  The  day  I  left  the  '  School,'  "  Jean  Reynaud 
went  on  after  a  long  silence,  "  Enfantin  accused 
several  of  his  disciples  of  betraying  him. 

[418] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

"  I  had  stanchly  espoused  the  defence  of  Ma- 
dame Bazard,  and  denounced  the  infamy  of  which 
she  was  a  victim.  Upon  me  in  particular,  there- 
fore, did  Enfantin  direct  his  accusations.  The 
name  Judas  was  on  his  lips,  when,  in  a  burst  of 
arrogant  eloquence  he  cried: 

"  '  I  feel  I  resemble  Christ ! ' 

" '  With  this  difference,'  I  replied  coldly  and 
ironically, '  that  Christ  was  upon  the  Cross  and  you 
are  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair.' 

"  Thereupon  I  left  what  I  loudly  declared  to  be 
a  '  School '  of  moral  mischief. 

"  I  did  not  see  Enfantin  again  until  the  Bourges' 
trial.  That  day,  pursuing  the  same  idea,  he 
said: 

"  '  Two  thousand  years  ago  a  man  teaching  a 
new  morality  appeared  before  his  judges.' 

"  A  new  morality,"  repeated  Jean  Reynaud ; 
"  the  morality  which  stained  the  two  purest  be- 
ings in  the  world — Bazard  and  his  wife. 

"  How  could  I  become  a  member  of  a  society  both 
humanely  religious  and  economic  when  I  am  a 
spiritualist  and  a  dreamer?  "  Jean  Reynaud  asked 
me.  I  was  unable  to  answer  him,  not  having  lived 
at  the  moment  of  the  systems  when  one  undertook 
to  fight  without  paying  sufficient  attention  to  the 
choice  of  weapons  and  of  loaders. 

[419] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Doctor  Maure  dined  with  us  that  night.  Jean 
Reynaud  recurred,  in  spite  of  himself,  to  the  past 
he  had  called  up  for  my  benefit. 

Old  Maure  was  an  eclectic  philosopher.  He 
spoke  of  schools  and  philosophers  with  a  detached 
ease  which  made  him  a  delightful  talker.  He 
found  some  good  in  each  school,  having  had 
friends  in  all  of  them ;  morality  in  all  philosophies, 
having  weighed  them  all.  Witty,  original,  nothing 
was  so  diverting  as  a  certain  grimace  prefacing  one 
of  his  remarks,  always  unexpected,  decisive,  which 
cut  short  any  conversation,  so  droll  was  it.  He  was 
much  attached  to  Jean  Reynaud  and  Merimee,  who 
detested  each  other  cordially.  Merimee  disbelieved 
everything  which  the  author  of  Ciel  et  Terre  be- 
lieved. In  revenge,  he  had  faith  in  the  benefits  of 
the  Empire,  while  Jean  Reynaud  accused  Napo- 
leon III  of  every  possible  crime. 

Nevertheless,  when  I  arrived  in  Cannes  Jean 
Reynaud  was  not  so  irritated  against  the  Imperial 
rule,  because  of  the  union  of  Nice  to  France. 

"  That  is  the  only  thing  Merimee  has  found  fault 
with,"  said  Doctor  Maure  to  Jean  Reynaud  one 
day.  "  It  is  written  that  you  shall  never  agree 
about  anything." 

I  was  most  curious  to  know  what  Merimee  would 
say  about  the  Empress,  and  I  worried  Doctor  Maure 

[  420] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

with  questions.     He,  mischievous,  pretended  not  to 
understand  the  drift  of  my  remarks. 

"  Now,  Doctor,  does  he  think  her  intelligent?  " 

"  He  wishes  her  to  be  so." 

"  He  wishes,  he  wishes;  just  so,  to  wish  requires 
an  effort ;  therefore,  when  questioned,  he  does  not 
say  simply,  '  She  is  intelligent.'  " 

"  He  acquiesces,  and  adds,  '  She  has  a  wonderful 
memory.'  " 

"  A  substitute,  Doctor?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean?     A  substitute?  " 

"  A  wonderful  memory  which  makes  up  for  in- 
telligence." 

"  That  is  as  you  like.  Merimee  not  being  there, 
it  does  not  behoove  me  to  oppose  your  opinion ;  but 
if  I  sum  up  impressions  gathered  here  and  there 
during  my  conversations  with  Merimee,  I  believe 
the  Empress  to  be  alluring,  enchanting,  versatile, 
a  woman  to  her  very  finger-tips,  more  complex  and 
diverse  than  the  man  of  Montaigne,  and  with  all 
this,  and,  mark  this  well,  absolutely  faithful.  Not 
in  the  least  prodigal,  as  people  say,  but  rather  the 
contrary." 

"  Does  Merimee  approve  of  her  mode  of  pro- 
cedure on  certain  occasions,  the  songs  and  worldly 
guidance  she  permits  from  Madame  de  Metter- 
nich?" 

[  421  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  My  dear  child,  you  are  going  to  force  me  to 
divulge  intimate  confidences.  The  Empress  loves 
her  husband,  and  suffers  intensely  when  he  deserts 
her ;  she  then  seeks  distraction  at  any  cost,  diversity 
of  sensations  which  make  her  forget  her  conjugal 
sorrows  for  a  moment — the  theatre,  games,  songs, 
excursions  into  the  country,  she  tries  them  all." 

"  And  as  a  mother?  " 

"  She  is  perfect.  She  brings  up  the  Prince  Im- 
perial admirably ;  keeps  away  everything  which 
might  excite  his  vanity,  wishing  him  to  be  well  in- 
formed and  not  stuffed  with  learning.  In  short, 
she  possesses,  as  we  all  do,  qualities  and  defects. 
It  seems  to  me,  since  reading  some  of  her  letters  to 
Merimee,  that  qualities  predominate." 

"  Ah !  but,  Doctor,  though  a  friend  of  Monsieur 
Thiers,  though  an  old  Liberal,  though  an  Orleanist, 
it  seems  to  me  that  Merimee  has  made  you  like  the 
Empress !  " 

"  No,  appreciate  her." 

The  son  of  a  painter,  Merimee  was  devoted  to 
painting.  Doctor  Maure  brought  me  one  day  a 
water-colour  painted  at  Saint-Cesaire,  the  property 
of  the  Doctor,  which  Merimee  had  just  solemnly 
presented  to  him.     It  was  mediocre ! 

"  My  poor  friend,  you  are  now  forced  to  behold 
Saint-Cesaire  unsightly !  " 

[  422] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

"  No,"  he  told  me,  with  his  grimace,  "  I  will  only 
turn  this — er — landscape  on  the  bad  side  painted 
by  Merimee  when  he  does  me  the  honour  of  being 
my  guest,  and  for  ordinary  occasions  I  will  paste 
a  pretty  picture  on  the  back.  Alas!  why  is  not 
Merimee  able  to  paint  as  well  as  he  writes  and 
eats." 

To  be  able  to  eat  was  a  claim  upon  Doctor 
Maure's  regard,  and  on  that  account  he  had  a  great 
contempt  for  Cousin. 

"  Would  you  believe,"  he  told  me,  "  that  one 
day  arriving  in  the  middle  of  luncheon  I  heard  him 
asking  his  governess  for  some  more  veal,  and  it 
was  pheasant ! !  " 

Upon  the  other  side  of  Cannes  Bay,  opposite  me, 
was  a  pine-wood,  where  Doctor  Maure  advised  me 
to  spend  an  hour  every  morning  stretched  upon 
the  sand  by  the  sea.  There  I  could  see  Merimee 
in  the  distance,  followed  by  his  old  English  friends 
in  light  dresses,  one  carrying  a  quiver  and  the  other 
a  large  bag,  both  fastened  to  a  strap  over  the 
shoulder.  Merimee  carried  a  bow — like  a  god, 
Homer  would  have  said.  At  a  given  moment  one 
of  the  Englishwomen  took  out  an  arrow,  Merimee 
held  the  bow,  the  arrow  whistled  and  struck  a  pine- 
cone,  selected  for  its  ripeness.  One  of  the  English- 
women ran  after  the  pine-cone,  which  she  put  in 

[423] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


her  bag;  the  other  picked  up  the  arrow  if  it  fell. 
There  was  a  silent  flutter  of  anxiety  as  the  arrow 
shot  from  the  bow,  followed  by  joyful  cries,  ex- 
clamations, or  rather  acclamations,  which  ended 
only  when  Merimee  again  stretched  his  bow  and 
shot. 

Hidden  behind  a  juniper-tree,  I  could  see  every- 
thing without  being  seen. 

One  day  I  meet  Merimee  and  Lord  Brougham. 
They  bowed  and  stopped. 

I  complimented  Merimee  upon  his  skill  in  pine- 
cone  shooting.  Lord  Brougham  looked  at  me  with 
an  eye  full  of  mischief.  I  did  not  even  smile.  Meri- 
mee was  pleased  with  the  grave  manner  in  which  I 
congratulated  him. 

"  In  Picardy,"  I  added,  "  every  man  of  spirit 
is  a  skilful  archer,  and  I  am  a  good  judge  of  the 
sport.  You  are  splendid.  Yesterday  you  brought 
down  five  cones." 

"  William  Tell  is  outdone,"  rejoined  Lord 
Brougham ;  "  but,  do  you  not  think,  Madame,  that 
my  two  countrywomen  do  not  sufficiently  resemble 
Psyche  for  this  strapping  Cupid?  " 

It  was  impossible  to  refrain  from  smiling. 

"  Moth !  "  said  Merimee,  laughing. 

Doctor  Maure  allowed  me  to  worry  him  with 
questions  about  Merimee. 

[424] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

There  was  one  I  had  not  yet  ventured  to  ask. 
You  may  easily  guess  it  concerned  George  Sand. 
I  constantly  hovered  round  it. 

"  You  know,  Doctor,  Merimee  congratulated  me 
upon  one  of  my  articles.  I  am  positive  he  cannot 
bear  women  who  write." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  Moreover,  among  his 
faults  there  is  one  which  in  no  way  predominates — 
hypocrisy." 

"  He  really  admires  writing  women?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  Who,  for  example?  " 

"  Madame  de  Stael,  George  Sand." 

"George  Sand!" 

"  Yes ;  he  admires  her  as  much,  even  more,  than 
I  do." 

"  Come,  now." 

"  I  swear  it ;  and  it  is  for  that  very  reason 
that " 

"That?" 

"  That  their  lot  has  been  so  sad.  His  interest  in 
George  Sand  was  aroused  after  reading  Lelia.  He 
saw  Madame  Sand  possessed  an  heroic  character 
similar  to  the  one  he  himself  posed  as  having.  Mark 
that  I  say  posed.  He  saw  her  the  master  (I  repeat 
his  very  words),  looking  upon  man  as  the  latter 
looks  upon  woman  in  a  light  love  intrigue — a  love 

[425] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


which  gives  nothing  of  his  inner  self,  taken  up 
and  cast  aside  day  by  day,  unless  the  fancies  of  the 
senses  are  added  to  those  of  the  mind. 

"  Merimee  dreamed  of  fascinating  Lelia,  of 
making  her  find  in  him  that  which  he  sought  in  her 
— something  undiscovered,  a  defensive  strength 
that  could  not  be  broken  down,  an  unlimited  dis- 
dain of  the  other,  a  challenge  to  penetrate  that 
other,  even  in  possessing  it. 

"  The  preliminary  game  lasted  long  between 
them.  Merimee  affected  an  icy  coldness,  even  in 
his  declarations  ;  Madame  Sand  abandoned,  in  sheer 
weariness  caused  by  many  experiences,  her  whirl  of 
passionate  love,  curious  to  experience  an  affair 
without  love. 

"He  (Merimee)  would  subdue  Lelia  one  day; 
would  leave  upon  her  life  an  ineffaceable  mark, 
which  would  stand  apart  from  all  other  souvenirs 
an  everlasting  query.  Above  all,  she  must  rebel 
against  the  intellectual  male  that  his  victory  might 
be  the  greater. 

"  I  will  once  more  quote  you  Merimee's  words : 

"  '  She  possessed  nothing,  absolutely  nothing  of 
what  I  thought  to  find  in  her.  Sensitive  and  sub- 
missive, she  gave  herself  into  bondage.  She  fell 
from  the  heights  of  Lelia  in  my  imagination.  Out- 
rageously  cheated,   delayed   in   my   life,   I   flung, 

[426] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

wounding  her,  my  indifference  in  her  teeth.  There 
again,  instead  of  maledictions  and  hatred,  I  was 
only  faced  by  a  woman  once  more  deceived  and 
weeping  for  her  lost  dream.' 

"  If  Madame  Sand  proved  herself  romantic, 
Merimee,  you  must  admit,  was  extraordinarily  so," 
added  Doctor  Maure,  with  his  grimace. 

Jean  Reynaud,  Madame  Jean  Reynaud  and  I 
went  to  Vallauris,  and  there  were  struck  by  the 
taste  displayed  by  one  of  the  young  Massiers, 
little  more  than  a  child,  who,  with  the  pretty 
pinky-white  earth  of  which  common,  almost  black, 
earthen  pots  are  made  fashioned  charming 
vases  of  classic  shapes.  These  he  dried  in  the 
sun,  so  as  to  preserve  their  colour,  and  sold  to 
strangers. 

We  were  greatly  interested  in  this  child,  a  true 
potter,  loving  his  art  and  dreaming  of  glazing  and 
baking,  begging  us  to  help  him,  to  persuade  his 
father  that  he  would  earn  more  money  with  pretty 
vases  than  with  his  toupins  and  pignattes,  earthen 
pots  and  saucepans.  Jean  Reynaud  did  as  he  asked, 
sent  him  books ;  and  I,  when  I  became  a  "  Vallau- 
rian,"  was  smitten  with  this  art  which  I  saw  tried, 
developing  little  by  little,  and  attaining  the  per- 
fection of  form,  new  creations ;  finding  again  the 
lost  reflections  of  the  potters  of  Granada,  creating 
28  [  427  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


the  pottery   of  Vallauris,   which   others   would   in 
their  turn,  enrich  with  their  discoveries. 

The  young  potter  of  whom  I  speak  was  Clement 
Massier. 

Jean  Reynaud  and  Madame  Jean  Reynaud  left 
Cannes.  Before  their  departure  they  rented  for 
me  a  small  house  surrounded  by  orange-trees  and 
close  to  their  villa.  And  there  I  was  to  come  the 
following  autumn,  with  my  daughter.  Madame 
Jean  Reynaud  gave  me  a  small  Brigasque  peasant- 
woman,  Angelique,  who  returned  to  Briga  every 
spring,  at  the  foot  of  the  Col  de  Tende,  and  came 
back  in  the  bad  weather.  She  would  serve  me  when 
I  returned  to  the  South. 

To  give  more  character  to  Mon  Voyage  autour 
du  Grand  Pin,  why  should  I  not  go  with  Angelique 
to  the  Col  de  Tende,  penetrate  into  the  heart  of 
those  mountains  stretching  so  magnificently  below 
our  eyes? 

I  therefore  set  out  for  the  Col  de  Tende  with  my 
Brigasque,  her  brother,  and  her  sister,  who  were 
going  home  at  the  same  time  as  Angelique,  to  that 
village  buried  beneath  the  snow  in  the  winter  and 
where  the  old  folks  alone  remain. 

When  I  returned  from  my  picturesque  and  most 
interesting  trip  I  unluckily  bethought  me  of  going 
from  Cannes  to  Marseilles  by  boat.     The  weather 

[  428  ] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 


was  frightful,  and  I  was  dreadfully  ill  for  sixteen 
hours,  and  again  spat  blood. 

On  my  arrival  at  Oullins,  near  Lyons,  at  the 
house  of  the  "  Father,"  at  the  house  of  Madame 
Arles-Dufour,  whom  I  soon  called  "  Mother,"  I 
was  in  so  pitiable  a  condition  that  my  old  friend 
kept  me  for  a  week,  refusing  to  allow  me  to  go  home 
ill  after  a  four  months'  stay  in  the  South. 

Arles-Dufour  had  been  to  the  Universal  Exhibi- 
tion in  London,  and  told  us  of  all  its  wonders,  and 
profited  by  the  circumstance  to  speak  of  the  rule 
of  commercial  and  industrial  fraternity  among  na- 
tions, the  end  of  warfare,  and  such  things. 

"  When  you  have  proved  that  you  will  not  fall 
upon  a  wretch  who  insults  your  wife  and  children," 
said  Madame  Aries,  with  her  bantering  smile,  "  I 
will  believe  in  the  end  of  warfare.  When  our 
peasants  no  longer  fight  about  a  changed  boundary 
in  their  fields,  I  will  believe  in  the  suppression  of 
frontiers.  When  people  no  longer  commit  crimes 
in  order  to  possess  the  inheritance  of  others,  I  will 
tell  myself  that  man  has  changed ;  that  he  is  no 
longer  covetous ;  that  another's  property  is  sacred, 
and  that  we  are  entering  upon  the  Golden  Age." 

"  O  short-sighted  woman  !  "  cried  Arles-Dufour. 

"  Clear-sighted  woman,  you  mean." 

I  left  Oullins  quite  recovered.     My  father,  Ed- 

[429] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


mond  Adam,  and  de  Ronchaud  were  at  the  station. 
Madame  Vilbort  was  not ;  why  ?  I  was  to  learn  the 
reason  only  too  soon. 

My  father  and  Edmond  Adam  had  corresponded 
during  my  absence;  I  found  them  friends.  They 
would  have  fired  at  one  another  in  1848,  but  agreed 
perfectly  upon  hatred  of  the  Empire.  How  grate- 
ful I  was  to  Edmond  Adam  for  giving  me  his 
little  Bordelaise,  whose  devotion  had  had  much  to 
do  with  my  recovery ! 

I  returned  to  Chauny  that  same  night,  after 
having  embraced  Madame  d'Agoult  and  taken  my 
father  to  thank  Monsieur  and  Madame  Jean  Rey- 
naud.  What  joy  to  see  how  my  daughter  had 
grown !  She  dreamed  of  nothing  but  "  the  beauti- 
ful blue  country,  and  of  the  orange-trees."  She 
wished  it  were  "  the  day  we  are  going  to  start." 

"  Ungrateful  mite !  "  said  my  father  laughing. 

He  knew  the  danger  I  had  been  in,  for  Doctor 
Maure  had  written  to  him.  Even  my  mother  blessed 
my  friends ;  "  but  we  must  see  at  the  end."  She 
allowed  me  to  understand  what  interest  each  one 
had  in  being  so  extraordinarily  devoted  to  me.  It 
is  so  pleasant  to  suspect! 

Ah !  suspicion,  odious  suspicion !  I  learned  that 
in  my  absence  my  enemies  managed  to  impose  upon 
my  charming  cousin  Vilbort,  and  that  in  her  house 

[430] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

it  was  reported  that  my  sudden  illness  was  a  farce 
and  that  I  went  to  Italy  in  search  of  adventure. 

My  cousin  received  every  week  on  Wednesday 
evening,  and  I  knew  that  since  my  return  the  kindly 
prattle  about  my  "  more  than  light  "  conduct  was 
increased  each  week  by  a  fresh  assertion. 

I  arrived  at  her  house  about  ten  o'clock,  greeted 
no  one,  and  stood  by  the  fireplace. 

"  Good  evening,  dear  cousin,"  I  said  loudly. 
"  Here  I  am,  better  than  the  day  before  my  de- 
parture for  the  South,  where  you  so  kindly  helped 
me.  I  am  informed  that  spiteful  people  are  circu- 
lating spiteful  reports,  declaring  loudly  that  I  have 
not  been  ill ;  that  I  went  not  to  Cannes,  but  to  Italy, 
in  pursuit  of  a  more  or  less  perfect  love-affair. 
Happily,  you  are  here,  cousin,  to  maintain  the 
critical  condition  in  which  you  saw  me,  and  if, 
among  your  friends  here  present,  there  are  any  who 
have  refused  to  believe  you,  I  beg  they  will  question 
me.     I  am  ready  to  explain." 

Profound  silence  followed  my  words.  I  fixed  my 
eyes  upon  two  persons  in  particular.  These,  I  had 
been  told,  were  bitterest  against  me.  One  was  a 
friend  of  Mademoiselle  Clemence  Royer.  They, 
like  the  rest,  remained  silent. 

Vilbort  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  You  could  not  choose  a  better  house  than  ours, 

[431  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


cousin,  wherein  to  justify  yourself,"  he  said, 
"  knowing  that  our  relationship  is  strengthened  by 
solid  friendship." 

"  Thank  you,  cousin,"  I  answered,  rather 
touched,  grasping  his  hand. 

I  was  about  to  leave,  when  Madame  Vilbort  flung 
herself,  weeping,  in  my  arms. 

"  Dear,  dear  Juliette,  forgive  me,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

The  kindly  ones  gathered  round  me,  the  waverers 
followed  suit,  and  the  two  evil-minded  ones  went 
away.  Their  departure  was  applauded  as  in  a 
theatre,  and  my  cousin's  guests,  disburdened  of  the 
remorse  of  ill-will,  finished  the  evening  happily. 

My  Recits  d'une  Paysanne  appeared,  and  I 
hastened  to  put  my  very  straggling  notes  upon 
Mon  Voyage  autour  du  Grand  Pin  in  order.  I 
returned  to  Chauny,  and,  my  notes  classified,  I  in- 
tended to  come  back  speedily,  for  my  friends  missed 
me.  It  was  so  long  since  I  had  talked  from  day 
to  day  with  them.  I  knew  nothing  of  political  mat- 
ters save  what  had  been  written  to  me,  and  what  I 
read  in  papers;  but  what  a  difference  in  the  ideas 
one  exchanges  after  the  appearance  of  an  event 
and  those  experienced  before ! 

I  made  a  strenuous  effort,  though  I  was  worried 
daily  by  my  mother,  who  incessantly  repeated  that 

[  432] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

I  was  killing  myself,  because  I  did  not  go  out,  be- 
cause I  rushed  to  my  work  "  as  soon  as  I  have 
swallowed  the  last  mouthful." 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  Mama,  leave  me  in  peace. 
Has  not  every  trade  its  risk?  For  the  doctor,  in- 
fection; for  the  slate-layer,  the  tumbling  down  of 
the  roof;  for  the  soldier,  death.  The  writer  has 
excessive  work  at  times,  by  fits  and  starts.  Must 
you,  when  you  have  chosen  it,  abandon  your  trade 
on  account  of  its  risk?  In  that  case,  none  would 
ever  do  anything." 

"  Your  daughter  is  perfectly  right,"  said  my 
father. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  added  my  mother,  who  was 
rather  a  quibbler,  and  likes  you  to  give  her 
"  reasons." 

As  soon  as  my  notes  were  put  in  order  I  returned 
to  Paris.  I  settled  myself  once  more  in  my  little 
drawing-room  in  the  Boulevard  Poissoniere,  and 
saw  my  friends  again  one  by  one. 

Nothing  was  talked  of  except  the  war  in  Mexico ; 
we  were  naturally  inexpressibly  shocked. 

"  Is  it  not  the  Mexican  clergy  who  are  anxious 
to  overthrow  the  Liberal  Juarez?  Is  there  not  the 
scandal  of  the  good  Jeckers  ?  " 

"  Imperial  corruption  has  reached  the  culminat- 
ing point,"  cried  my  friends. 

[433] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Toussenel  discoursed  of  nothing  but  the  acquit- 
tal of  Mires  at  Douai.  The  magistrates  themselves 
were  contaminated,  the  Supreme  Court  of  Appeal 
only  annulled  for  the  sake  of  form,  to  furnish  an 
argument  for  simpletons. 

In  the  Chamber  the  "  Five  "  made  a  good  deal 
of  noise.  The  eighteen  seats  in  the  public  gallery 
were  always  filled  by  their  young  friends,  who 
groaned  in  a  manner  likely  to  irritate  the  majority, 
but  not  so  much  as  to  give  Monsieur  de  Morny  the 
right  to  expel  them.  Much  amusement  was  caused 
by  a  story  told  by  Floquet,  who,  having  fallen 
asleep  in  the  gallery,  suddenly  cried  out  in  his 
stentorian  voice,  while  a  speaker  mumbled  and  the 
Chamber  dozed : 

"  Citizen  President,  I  wish  to  speak." 

The  effect  may  be  imagined.  The  whole  Cham- 
ber rose.  The  public  gallery  was  cleared.  Finally, 
Floquet  owned  himself  in  the  wrong,  and  Monsieur 
de  Morny  treated  the  incident  lightly. 

Two  "  juniors  "  occupied  the  attention  of  the 
"  seniors,"  and  their  names  constantly  recurred  in 
the  conversation  of  the  latter.  They  were  those 
of  Brisson  and  Gambetta. 

Pichat  was  the  first  to  mention  Gambetta  to  us. 
He  described  him  to  me  as  badly  groomed,  with  an 
enormous  nose,  a  pale  eye,  thin,  stooping,  the  hot 

[  434] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

temper  peculiar  to  Southerners,  alternating  with 
tokens  of  observation  and  practical  sense.  He 
abused  the  seniors  more  than  any  other  junior. 
According  to  him  abstention  was  but  a  form  of 
powerlessness,  the  non-oath-takers  did  nothing,  or- 
ganized no  means  of  attack  or  defence. 

The  Liberal  Union,  however,  was  being  sketched 
in.  Jules  Bastide,  Carnot,  sought  a  form  of  action 
while  resolving  to  take  up  a  position  in  the  legisla- 
tive abstention. 

Jules  Simon  played  Ins  usual  double  game,  en- 
thusiastic about  the  idea  of  the  foundation  of  the 
Liberal  Union;  he  kept  close  to  the  juniors  and 
flattered  them,  reiterating  that  the  part  of  the 
seniors  was  played  out.  The  development  of  the 
Liberal  Union  began,  and  neither  the  Orleanists 
nor  the  Legitimists  gave  way. 

Through  my  old  friend  Beuque  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Massol,  who,  moreover,  was  my  near 
neighbour  in  the  Boulevard  Poissoniere.  Frequent 
visitors  at  his  house  were  Caubet  the  sage  and  Doc- 
tor Clavel.  All  three  constantly  prophesied  the 
most  brilliant  future  for  their  young  friend  Bris- 
son.  Clavel  undertook  alone  to  make  him  known 
and  understood  in  his  neighbourhood. 

Massol,  a  former  follower  of  Saint-Simon,  had 
been  delegated  by  Pere  Enfantin,  in  the  prosperous 

[  435] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


days  of  the  "  School,"  to  propagate  the  doctrine 
among  the  workmen  of  the  principal  towns  of 
France.  He  belonged  to  the  mission  of  Egypt. 
But  what  were  Massol,  Brisson,  and  Clavel  above 
everything?  Freemasons.  The  lodge  which 
monopolized  all  their  thoughts  became  the  motive 
of  all  their  acts. 

They  began  to  speak  with  unction  of  a  series 
of  studies  which  were  to  lead  to  the  complete  libera- 
tion of  the  human  mind,  and  would  be  pursued  in 
the  Masonic  lodge  with  the  high-sounding  name, 
Renaissance  par  les  Emules  d'Hiram.  I  own  that 
these  words  impressed  me  greatly.  Massol  was  sin- 
cere, without  any  personal  ambition,  and  his  theo- 
ries of  "  independent  morality  "  were  not  lacking 
in  depth.  He  dreamed  of  one  day  bringing  out  a 
magazine  under  that  name.  Many  people,  Free- 
masons especially,  were  interested  in  his  future 
work,  and  even  more  among  the  Phalansterians 
than  the  followers  of  Saint-Simon. 

When  Massol  and  I  discussed  things,  and  I  spoke 
to  him  of  our  Greek  philosophers,  he  showed  such 
disdain  that  one  day  I  brought  him  Louis  Menard, 
upon  which  occasion  I  was  present  at  the  finest  and 
most  erudite  discussion  upon  morality  I  have  ever 
heard. 

[436] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

Massol  collaborated  with  Proudhon  in  the  Voix 
du  Peuple,  and  had  remained  his  friend;  he  was 
even  one  of  the  executors  of  his  will.  There  was  no 
want  of  opportunities  for  wrangling,  but  on  polit- 
ical matters  we  agreed  perfectly.  When  the  Im- 
perial Government  wanted  to  seize  Freemasonry  by 
requiring  Marshal  Magnan  to  become  Grand- 
Master,  Massol  protested  with  extraordinary 
energy. 

Brisson  was  Massol's  Benjamin,  and  the  latter 
gave  him  his  pupil  Clorinda  in  marriage.  She  had 
been  brought  up  in  the  integral  ideas  of  the 
Renaissance  par  les  Emules  d'Hiram.  Massol  spoke 
figuratively  of  rebuilding  the  temple  of  Jerusalem. 
This  temple  was  that  of  the  "  independent  moral- 
ity." Massol,  like  the  King  of  Tyre,  would  furnish 
wood,  iron,  and  silver.  In  the  meantime  he  sold 
stone  fountains. 

Hiram,  King  of  Tyre,  son  of  Abibal,  and  friend 
of  Solomon,  sent  him,  with  materials  for  the  build- 
ing of  the  temple  of  Jerusalem,  an  architect  of  the 
same  name  as  himself — Hiram,  who  was  murdered 
by  his  workmen.  This  story  became  a  myth  for 
Freemasons.  I  quite  believe  that  in  the  minds  of 
Massol,  Brisson,  Caubet,  and  Clavel  this  myth 
meant  that  when  the  temple  of  Jerusalem  should 

[437] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


be  rebuilt,  the  great  Architect  of  the  Universe 
would,  like  any  simple  Hiram,  have  to  be  murdered. 
For  many  years  of  my  life  did  the  name  Hiram 
sound  in  my  ears. 

As  Gambetta,  the  much  talked-of  other  junior, 
was  untidy  and  unkempt,  so  was  Brisson  well  kept 
and  spotless.  He  took  care  of  himself,  and  of  his 
character  most  of  all. 

I  do  not  believe  Brisson  ever  laughed  with  the 
heartiness  characteristic  of  man.  His  character  was 
to  him  naught  but  a  character — grave,  austere, 
anxious,  with  all  the  anxieties  to  which  a  man  is 
subject  who  wants,  in  his  short  life,  to  free  human 
thought  from  the  religious  seizure  of  centuries,  for 
until  the  "  independent  morality  "  there  had  al- 
ways been  religions ;  and  my  friend  Renouvier  even 
said  that  they  still  corresponded  to  the  state  of 
ignorance  or  of  science. 

Brisson  stopped  at  the  political  literature  which 
gives  free-thinkers  adversaries  such  as  a  Rodin,  a 
Jesuit.  He  suffered,  as  we  all  must,  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  Empire  in  addition  to  his  personal 
fears.  Massol  was  gay,  rather,  despite  the  weight 
of  human  thought  he  sought  to  relieve  of  its  dross. 
Caubet  willingly  chattered  of  things  and  other 
people.  Clavel,  like  a  child,  was  easily  amused, 
especially  if  one  made  excursions  into  the  country 

[  438] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

with  him.  He  would  run  after  a  butterfly,  climb 
to  pick  flowers,  and  fall  down  again.  Brisson  re- 
mained Brisson  under  all  circumstances.  His  great- 
est fault  was  looking  at  himself,  never  at  others.  As 
long  as  events  continued  as  at  that  time  to  gravi- 
tate in  the  same  sense  of  attack,  it  was  satisfactory 
because  it  was  necessary  nolens  volens  to  march  in 
company,  and  Brisson  fought  the  fight  of  opposi- 
tion as  well  as  any  other,  but  he  never  believed  the 
victory  won.  That  would  have  been  too  cheerful. 
He  would  still  pursue  the  slain,  and,  at  a  pinch, 
draw  his  sword  against  shadows. 

My  dear  old  Beuque  was  very  fond  of  Brisson, 
but  did  not  consider  him  "  young  "  enough.  She 
would  say  so  to  Massol,  one  of  Brisson's  most  en- 
thusiastic admirers,  who  used  to  reply: 

"  What  can  you  expect  ?  He  bears  the  weight 
of  *  obscurantism.'  " 

Returning  from  Nohant,  Madame  Sand  sent 
Marchal,  the  painter,  to  me,  whom  I  was  acquainted 
with,  to  tell  me  that  she  liked  my  Recits  d'une  Pay- 
sanne,  "  tout-plein,"  a  Berri  idiom.  She  was,  it 
seemed,  curious  to  see  whether,  being  so  devoted  to 
the  North,  I  was  going  to  describe  the  South,  never 
doubting,  she  added,  that  I  was  preparing  an  ac- 
count of  my  stay  at  Cannes. 

I  told  Marchal  that  this  was  indeed  the  case,  but 

[439] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


that  since  I  had  read  Tamaris  I  was  afraid.  Hap- 
pily I  had  only  just  read  it,  or  I  would  never  have 
ventured  to  begin  my  new  book. 

"  I  will  write  and  tell  her  so,"  said  Marchal. 

Leon  de  Wailly,  speaking  in  L'lllustration  of 
my  Recits  d'une  Paysanne  and  of  a  return  of  the 
Idees  Anti-Proudhoniennes,  called  me  "  Brada- 
mante."  The  name  clung  to  me  and  every  one 
teased  me  about  it.  Prevost-Paradol  and  Henri 
Lavoix  added  their  flattering  paragraphs  to  those 
of  my  friends. 

Madame  d'Agoult  had  just  written  a  very  fine 
book,  Florence  et  Turin,  which  was  talked  of  in  all 
circles.  When  an  echo  of  her  success  reached  me 
I  was  over j  oyed  to  report  it  to  her. 

My  friend  was  at  this  period  plunged  in  a  state 
of  melancholy  from  which  we,  her  intimate  friends, 
could  not  rouse  her,  for  her  sorrow  sprang  from  an 
event  that  was  to  have  filled  her  with  rejoicing.  Her 
daughter,  Madame  Ollivier,  was  pregnant,  and 
though  not  young,  all  physical  symptoms  were  sat- 
isfactory. The  cause,  however,  of  Madame 
d'Agoult's  grief  was  that  during  the  first  months 
of  her  pregnancy  Madame  Emile  Ollivier  had  in- 
sisted that  her  mother,  who  gave  her  the  income 
accruing  from  a  dowry  of  one  hundred  thousand 
francs,   should   hand   her   the   capital,   reiterating 

[  440] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

every  time  they  met  that  the  happiness  of  her  house- 
hold depended  upon  it. 

One  day  I  went  to  see  Madame  d'Agoult,  and  we 
were  starting  for  a  walk  when  Grevy  arrived.  She 
had  sent  for  him,  but  he  had  anticipated  the  hour 
mentioned.  I  would  have  retired,  but  my  dear 
friend  insisted  upon  my  remaining ;  "  for,"  she  told 
Grevy,  "  Madame  Juliette  Lamber  is  acquainted 
with  all  the  details  of  the  matter  I  wish  to  consult 
you  about." 

Having  explained  everything  to  Grevy,  Madame 
d'Agoult  added: 

"  This  persistence  shown  by  Blandine  causes  me 
unspeakable  apprehension  under  the  circumstances. 
Is  Ollivier,  for  some  reason  unknown  to  me,  anxious 
about  his  wife's  confinement?  Does  he  wish  to 
have  nothing  to  settle  with  me  if  she  dies  ?  It  looks 
like  it." 

"  It  does,  indeed,"  answered  Grevy,  who  had  no 
great  liking  for  Emile  Ollivier ;  "  but  you  cannot 
run  the  risk  of  adding  mental  trouble  to  the  phys- 
ical one  your  daughter  is  now  undergoing.  Should 
the  worst  happen  to  her,  you  would  be  stricken 
with  remorse.  Give  her  the  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

Madame  d'Agoult  did  so,  and  peace  again 
reigned  over  the  household. 

[  441  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Nearly  all  my  friends  now  left  Paris,  and  I  re- 
turned to  Chauny.  Jean  Reynaud  was  taking  the 
waters,  and  I  corresponded  regularly  with  Madame 
Jean  Reynaud,  when  we  were  all  upset  by  the 
Aspromonte  affair  and  Garibaldi's  wound.  With 
her  usual  calmness  and  customary  sense  she  wrote: 

"  I  will  tell  you  that  I  greatly  regret  that  this 
fine  type  of  a  spotless  hero,  as  striking  in  his 
Caprera  as  the  symbol  of  abnegation  and  patriot- 
ism itself,  should  have  fallen  in  civil  war." 

Our  illusions  at  this  period  may  be  gathered  from 
the  words  of  Madame  Jean  Reynaud : 

"  When  universal  suffrage — a  Parliament — has 
been  established  in  a  country,  let  right  reign  therein 
and  bring  all  benefits  in  the  fulness  of  time.  Gari- 
baldi, unfortunately,  is  one  of  those  who  hasten 
without  waiting  to  reflect,  as  Pelletan  says,  and 
whose  hearts  are  greater  than  their  minds. 

"  Garibaldi  has  doubtless  faults  of  principle  and 
clear-headedness  coupled  with  many  great  quali- 
ties, once  more  proving  that  one  cannot  possess 
everything.  I  trust  that  glorious  occasions  will  not 
be  lacking  in  Garibaldi's  world,  that  his  valour  and 
great  generosity  will  be  used  in  more  justifiable 
conflicts.  So  much  evil  has  already  resulted  from 
this  gloomy  enterprise  that  he  must  be  enlightened 
as  to  the  circumstances  and  change  his  course. 

[  442  ] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

"  My  husband,  on  his  side,  is,  as  I  am,  delighted 
with  Pelletan,  and  with  his  letter  to  Monsieur  Im- 
haus.  A  vast  amount  of  energy  and  spirit  is  neces- 
sary to  thus  produce  a  dozen  essays  in  one  year. 
The  last  shows  that  his  seclusion  has  done  him 
good.     He  is  more  brilliant  than  ever. 

"  This  year  we  shall  go  to  Cannes  early.  There 
is  nothing  like  a  sun  cure  for  completing  an  air 
cure." 

Jean  Reynaud  was  home  again  now  and  added  a 
few  words  to  his  wife's  letter : 

"  Although  I  also  think  that  Garibaldi  was  in 
the  wrong,  I  hope  the  consequences  of  his  blunder 
will  be  satisfactory." 

I  informed  Pelletan  of  Madame  Jean  Reynaud's 
approbation,  of  which  he  was  very  sensible  and  told 
me  that  the  duty  of  combatants  increased  daily; 
"  that  the  younger  members  of  the  schools  are  dis- 
quieting, and  allow  themselves  to  be  led  more  and 
more  by  Vermorels  and  Gambettas,  by  the  roughs 
of  the  party,  who  have  not  the  demeanour  of  Flo- 
quet,  Ferry,  and  Adalbert  Philis."  Pelletan  added 
that  doubtless  "  we  must  not  return  to  the  '  yellow 
gloves  '  of  the  National,  but  the  '  manners  '  of  Car- 
not,  Grevy,  Duclerc,  Adam,  Pichat,  and  many 
others  have  added,  let  us  acknowledge,  to  the  re- 
spectability of  our  party." 

29  [  443  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


The  Roman  question  was  always  the  one  which 
most  impressed  political  men  of  all  parties.  Napo- 
leon III  sought  to  gain  time.  He  declared  that 
nothing  must  be  altered  before  the  death  of  Pius 
IX.  All  the  present  ministers  thought  it  impossi- 
ble for  matters  to  remain  in  statu  quo. 

Thouvenel  vacillated  and  oscillated,  so  Hetzel 
told  me.  He  stopped  at  Chauny  on  his  way  from 
Brussels,  where  he  had  seen  Victor  Hugo.  Hetzel 
was  a  friend  of  Bixio,  and  frequently  met  Nigra 
at  his  house.  Nigra  pretended  that  the  ministers 
were  cowards ;  that  they  knew  the  situation  in  Italy 
to  be  untenable,  and  notwithstanding  not  one  of 
them  helped  to  lessen  its  precariousness. 

"  Prince  Napoleon,"  said  Nigra,  "  proclaims 
loudly  that  if  France  remains  in  Rome  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  the  Italian  Government  not  to  resume  on  its 
own  account  the  movement  created  by  Garibaldi. 
All  that  France  does,"  he  added,  "  decides  in  favour 
of  Garibaldi.  Between  him  and  the  Italian  Govern- 
ment is  nothing  but  a  difference  of  method;  both 
have  the  same  object  in  view." 

Madame  Emile  Ollivier  died  in  childbirth  at 
Saint-Tropez.  All  Madame  d'Agoult's  friends 
were  filled  with  dismay.  Poor  Blandine!  so  beau- 
tiful and  strong !  I  wrote  to  my  dear  friend :  "  Do 
you  wish  me  to  come  to  you  ?  "     Her  reply  was : 

[  444  ] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

"  I  was  always  haunted  by  the  fear  that  Blandine 
was  in  danger.  Do  not  come,  my  child.  I  refuse 
to  be  consoled.  The  blow  is  too  sudden  for  me  not 
to  remain  crushed  for  many  days.  To  wish  a  re- 
action at  this  moment  would  be  more  cruel  than 
leaving  me  to  my  sorrow." 

When  I  met  Madame  d'Agoult  again  there  was 
still  something  fierce  in  her  grief.  She  reminded 
me  of  her  conversation  with  Grevy,  and  added : 

"  But,  if  my  son-in-law  was  anxious  about  Blan- 
dine's  confinement,  why  did  he  take  her  to  Saint- 
Tropez,  rather  than  leave  her  in  Paris,  where  all 
the  great  practitioners  were  within  her  reach?  " 

De  Ronchaud,  who  was  present,  saw  my  embar- 
rassment, and  replied : 

"  A  confinement  in  good  air  is  worth  more  than 
a  dozen  doctors,  and  even  if  he  were  anxious,  Ollivier 
did  quite  right  to  take  his  wife  to  Saint-Tropez, 
where,  in  September,  the  climate  is  perfect." 

"  And  the  story  of  the  hundred  thousand  francs  ? 
How  do  you  explain  that?  " 

"  As  you  yourself  did  when  Blandine  asked  for 
the  money ;  that  is  to  say,  that  in  the  event  of  his 
wife's  death,  Ollivier  would  not  be  obliged  to  dis- 
cuss business  matters  with  you.  The  payment  of 
this  amount  settled  everything,  whether  the  child 
lived  or  died,  for  Blandine  and  her  husband  ex- 

[445] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


changed,  from  the  early  days  of  their  marriage,  a 
deed  of  gift  between  living  persons." 

"  You  are  certain  of  this  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Tears  sprang  to  Madame  d'Agoult's  eyes.  I 
had  so  seldom  seen  her  weep  that  I  was  quite  over- 
come. 

I  did  not  like  Monsieur  Emile  Ollivier,  whose 
false  eyes  and  political  behaviour  did  not  inspire 
me  with  any  good-will.  The  anxiety  he  had  evinced 
in  the  settlement  of  his  affairs  in  connection  with 
his  mother-in-law  in  that  always  alarming  crisis 
which  his  beautiful  and  clever  wife  was  about  to 
undergo,  now  increased  my  antipathy. 

All  the  friends  of  Madame  d'Agoult  mourned 
with  her. 

Public  opinion  and  Government  circles  were  agi- 
tated by  one  sole  question  at  tins  time,  namely,  the 
Italian  question.  Monsieur  Thouvenel,  whose 
valour  is  highly  relative,  believed,  however,  in  the 
possibility  of  an  arrangement  between  Italy  and 
the  Pope.  He  sought  to  achieve  this.  Monsieur 
Thouvenel's  agents  naturally  acted  in  accordance 
with  his  ideas.  Monsieur  de  la  Valette  had  no 
opinions  save  those  of  his  leader.  Monsieur  Bene- 
detti  saw  how  things  were  progressing  by  the  side 
of  Prince  Napoleon.     One  fine  morning,  however, 

[  446] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 


Monsieur  Thouvencl  was  replaced  by  Monsieur 
de  Lhuys ;  the  most  astounding  part  of  the  affair 
was  the  form  of  the  revocation. 

The  Minister  of  Affairs  received  a  letter  from 
Napoleon  III  telling  him  that  he  was  dismissing 
him  in  the  interests  of  peace.  Now  it  was  plain 
that  Monsieur  Thouvenel  was  not  replaced  because 
his  policy  was  a  policy  of  peace.  The  Emperor 
added  that  he  wished  "  to  put  an  end  to  an  equivo- 
cal situation  which  rendered  all  the  acts  of  the 
French  Government  unintelligible." 

But  it  would  now  be  equivocal  in  a  different  way, 
and  the  Imperial  policy  equally  unintelligible ! 
Monsieur  de  Morny,  who  encouraged  Monsieur  de 
la  Valette  and  supported  Monsieur  Thouvenel,  was 
directly  affected  in  his  influence. 

Proudhon  now  came  forward  again  and  aided 
the  Imperial  policy  by  his  publication  of  L'Unite 
et  La  Federation  Italienne.  This  was  the  self- 
same man  who  looked  favourably  upon  the  coup 
d'etat. 

Bixio,  the  friend  of  Cavour,  the  only  interme- 
diary with  Napoleon  III  during  all  the  prelimina- 
ries of  the  Italian  war,  wrote  to  me  thus :  "  Your 
enemy  is  still  getting  through  a  good  deal  of  work, 
and  is  assuredly  an  insulter  of  all  noble  causes. 
He  is  now  ranged  against  Italian  unity.     He  is 

[447] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


treated  as  he  deserves  by  La  Presse,  Le  Temps,  and 
L'Opinion  Nationale,  but  no  one  has  horsewhipped 
him  as  you  have.  Quickly,  another  Anti-Proud- 
honienne  idea." 

Proudhon  answered  this  attack  with  a  pamphlet, 
in  which  he  accused  all  the  journalists  who  favoured 
Italian  unity  of  being  decorated  by  Victor  Emman- 
uel, and  of  being,  under  one  form  or  another,  in 
his  pay. 

This  is  a  somewhat  repulsive  species  of  disputa- 
tion, and  I  must  put  up  my  pen. 

Persigny  sided  with  Thouvenel,  and  accused  the 
Papacy  of  being  the  cause  of  the  impossibility 
of  Italy's  realizing  its  unity.  It  would  seem  as  if 
the  Imperial  policy  grew  more  and  more  "  equivo- 
cal and  unintelligible."  Monsieur  Drouyn  de 
Lhuys  protested,  people  said,  with  energy  against 
the  false  position  in  which  he  was  placed,  and 
found  in  his  turn  the  bric-a-brac  of  Monsieur  Per- 
signy cumbersome. 

I  spent  some  weeks  of  October  in  Paris,  for  my 
daughter  besought  me  to  start  early  for  the  land 
of  bluebirds  and  oranges. 

An  article  by  Proudhon  upon  Garibaldi,  which 
Edmond  Adam  told  me  had  greatly  impressed 
Monsieur  Thiers,  and  had  lately  been  published  by 
the  Officice  de  Publicite  de  Bruxelles,  predicted  that 

[  448] 


I    RETURN    TO    MY    OLD    FRIENDS 

the  realization  of  Italian  unity  would  prove  dan- 
gerous to  Europe,  for  it  would  bring  about  other 
unities  more  dangerous  still. 

Madame  Fauvety  spoke  to  me  about  the  debut 
of  a  young  actress,  Sarah  Bernhardt,  whom  she 
had  seen  a  month  before  in  Iphigenie  en  Aulide, 
and  who,  she  said,  would  one  day  take  the  place 
of  Rachel  and  cause  the  latter  to  be  forgotten.  My 
poor  friend,  alas,  cherished  rancour! 

We  went  together  to  the  third  performance  of 
Gauaches,  which  had  been  adversely  criticised. 

We  did  not  find  this  play  as  antidemocratic  as 
reported,  and  Marcel  Cavalier,  after  all,  had  the 
finest  part.  Our  friends  blamed  Sardou  for  de- 
picting blockheads  of  all  parties  and  omitting  a 
Napoleonic  blockhead;  but  would  the  censor  have 
allowed  it  to  pass?  In  my  opinion  the  Jacobin 
blockhead  is  the  least  abused. 

I  bade  farewell  for  many  months  to  my  dearest 
friends.  It  was  a  great  grief  to  me,  and  it  seemed 
that  my  mind  would  lack  sustenance ;  but  the  sky 
and  sea  smiled  from  afar  and  drew  me  irresistibly, 
the  more  so  that  I  was  once  more  suffering  from 
my  bad  cough. 


[449] 


CHAPTER    XVII 


® 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

LICE  and  I  started  forth,  and  stopped  at 
Oullins,  as  my  dear  friends,  whom  I  looked 
upon  as  relations,  were  anxious  to  know  my  daugh- 
ter. She  loved  the  "  good  genius,"  then  proceeded 
to  attach  herself  to  Madame  Arles-Dufour,  and 
soon  adopted  all  the  adorable  aunts,  uncles,  and 
cousins  belonging  to  the  "  good  genius." 

"  You  belong  to  the  good  genius?  " 

The  answer  was  given  in  the  affirmative,  the 
acquaintance  was  made,  and  affection  followed. 

At  Oullins,  when  the  children  had  gone  to  bed, 
we  read  aloud  Les  Miserables,  which  had  just  ap- 
peared, and  our  enthusiasm  increased.  What  tears 
were  shed  in  spite  of  some  caution  on  the  part  of 
Madame  Arles-Dufour,  who  professed  to  be  moved 
to  tears  "  by  the  troubles  of  worthy  people  rather 
than  by  those  of  rogues,  even  were  their  miseries 
greater." 

Arles-Dufour  called  his  wife  bourgeoise,  and  she 
retaliated  with  "  follower  of  Saint-Simon."  After 
spending  a  few  delightful  days  at  Oullins,  we  took 
the  train,  which  still  went  no  farther  than  Arcs. 

[  450  ] 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

Arles-Dufour  wrote  to  Paris  to  secure  two  scats 
in  the  coupe  of  the  diligence,  which  were  duly  as- 
signed to  us. 

The  journey  was  dreary ;  my  daughter,  who  had 
anxiously  looked  for  blue  skies  directly  we  left 
Lyons,  only  saw  rain. 

At  Arcs  we  found  floods  of  rain,  and  no  shelter 
whatsoever.  We  floundered  through  the  mud.  The 
railway  line  was  to  be  extended  as  far  as  Cannes 
some  months  later;  everything  was  deserted  at 
Arcs ;  it  was  hideous. 

An  Englishman  and  his  wife  settled  themselves 
in  our  places  in  the  coupe.  I  was  so  furious  that 
I  drew  out  my  revolver.  The  diligence  people  took 
my  part.  Finally  I  obtained  possession  of  my 
coupe,  but  one  of  our  bags,  which  was  in  the  straps, 
fell  on  to  my  daughter's  head,  causing  her  nose  to 
bleed  profusely.  I  thought  I  had  seriously  injured 
her,  and  was  in  despair. 

The  diligence,  which  was  making  its  last  voyage, 
groaned  and  creaked,  but  the  great  Esterel  Moun- 
tain reminded  Alice  of  all  the  tales  of  brigands  we 
had  told  her,  for  at  that  time  she  could  not  read. 
I  had  strictly  forbidden  my  mother  to  tire  her,  and 
before  teaching  her  b-a,  ba,  I  wanted  her  delicate 
health  to  improve. 

Now  the  blue  sea  and  sky  appeared  at  the  de- 

[451  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


clivity  of  the  Esterel.  A  sudden  veering  of  the 
mistral  swept  away  all  the  clouds,  and  my  daughter 
was  in  raptures. 

The  diligence  stopped  at  the  bottom  of  the  gar- 
den of  our  little  villa,  called  the  "  Villa  Arluc." 
There  was  Angelique,  my  Brigasque,  with  her  red 
corselet  and  head-dress  of  black  velvet  twisted 
round  her  head !  In  ten  minutes  my  daughter  and 
Angelique  were  friends. 

Kind  Doctor  Maure,  delighted  to  find  me  in  not 
too  sad  a  state,  brought  my  daughter  some  pre- 
served fruit  from  Grasse,  but  Alice  was  absorbed 
in  the  contemplation  of  an  orange-tree.  She  fin- 
gered the  oranges,  and  in  spite  of  all  Angelique 
said  to  frighten  her  about  the  landlady,  whose 
villa  was  but  a  few  yards  from  ours,  she  pulled  and 
pulled  and  finally  came  into  the  drawing-room 
with  her  broken  branch  and  her  orange,  crying: 

"  It  is  a  real  one !  " 

To  be  more  certain  she  proceeded  to  bite  the 
skin  itself,  and  was  delighted,  in  spite  of  her 
grimaces,  to  eat  a  real,  though  horribly  sour 
orange. 

Merimee  had  already  arrived.  The  good  Doctor 
told  me  his  friend  was  displeased.  "  Advances 
were  being  made  into  the  interior  where  it  was 
dangerous,  and  there  were  nothing  but  retreats  in 

[452] 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

the  exterior.  Italy  wanted  Rome  at  any  price,  and 
Bixio  told  Merimee  that  bands  of  brigands  were 
terrifying  the  provinces,  Southern  Italy  in  par- 
ticular, and  that  all  these  bands  came  from 
Rome." 

"  Merimee,"  Doctor  Maure  told  me,  "  is  in  such 
a  state  of  exasperation  that  he  has  actually  quoted 
a  phrase  of  Challemel-Lacour  to  me,  declaring  that 
revolutionists  are  driven  to  speak  thus;  and  this 
phrase  of  Challemel  is  frightful,"  added  the  Doc- 
tor. "  Judge  for  yourself :  '  Infamy,  cowardice, 
blackguardism,  dulness ;  here  is  the  summary  of 
French  France  and  Italian  France.'  What  do  you 
think  of  Merimee  quoting  that  to  me?  " 

I  had  brought  the  Poemes  Barbares  away  with 
me  and  I  read  them  in  the  glorious  sunshine.  They 
seemed  more  wonderful  than  in  Parisian  or  Chauny 
mists.  I  thought  I  saw  at  sunset,  when  Esterel 
was  veiled  in  tragic  violet  shades,  descending  here 
and  there,  les  pantheres  noirs. 

Girardin  wrote  to  me  thus :  "  My  friend  de  Les- 
seps  has  triumphed.  I  can  imagine  the  emotion 
felt  by  a  man  of  our  modern  day  when  he  saw  the 
Mediterranean  flowing  into  Lake  Timsah  and  rush- 
ing into  the  Red  Sea.  The  earth  must  have  expe- 
rienced some  shock  therefrom.  Do  you  know,  that 
at  one  moment,  when  Mohammed  died,  everything 

[453] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


was  almost  jeopardized.  The  English  laugh  no 
longer,  and  Palmerston's  historical  remark,  '  That 
swindle,  which,  as  long  as  he  lived,  he  would  never 
allow  to  be  perpetrated,'  becomes  quite  ridiculous. 
A  secret — hush !  I  will  rebuke  the  Presse.  Not  a 
word  to  any  one." 

Jean  Reynaud  now  arrived.  He  had  read  in 
the  train  a  pamphlet  by  Edgar  Quinet  upon  Mex- 
ico, and  was  amazed  at  its  assimilation.  "  Exile 
causes  recoil  and  allows  us  to  better  judge  great 
political  lines,"  said  Jean  Reynaud.  "  We  will 
see  what  the  perspicacity  of  Quinet  is  worth."  He 
concludes  that  Juarez  is  preparing  to  resist  hero- 
ically against  this  unjust  war,  contrary  to  all 
rights,  and  that  for  us  the  Mexican  expedition  will 
end  in  humiliation. 

The  literary  event  of  the  last  days  of  this  year 
was  the  appearance  of  Salammbo,  by  Flaubert, 
which  had  been  spoken  of  for  so  long,  for  all  his 
friends  had  heard  extracts  from  it. 

For  the  first  time  Madame  Sand  did  not  wait  to 
receive  a  letter  from  me  before  writing.  And  she 
spoke  of  Salammbo. 

"  You  must  read  it,"  she  wrote ;  "  it  is  a  splendid 
work,  one  of  those  which  leave  a  mark  for  all  time. 
I  tell  every  one  '  it  is  a  book  of  a  century.'  Would 
you  believe  that  that  dreadful  Edmond  de  Gon- 

[454] 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

court,  after  hearing  several  extracts  from  Salamm- 
bo  at  my  house,  went  everywhere  saying  that  it  is 
spurious  Eastern-Algerian-Tunisian,  too  replete 
with  gueuloir  phrases.  Read  it,  and  write  me  your 
impressions." 

I  read  Salammbo,  and  admired  the  breadth  and 
power  of  its  pictures,  in  spite  of  all  the  absurdity 
which  marked  many  of  the  details,  which  Flaubert, 
with  his  scruples,  must  be  certain  of;  at  the  same 
time  I  read  the  book  fearing  to  express  this  admira- 
tion badly  to  George  Sand.  I  could  never  have 
judged  Salammbo  had  I  not  known  the  South  and 
its  dazzling  days,  which  alone  make  one  understand 
African  life  from  without  and  the  mystery  of  the 
shade  within  the  temples. 

I  wrote  to  Madame  Sand  my  appreciation  of 
nature,  art,  and  history.  All  my  youth  I  pre- 
ferred Carthage  to  Rome.  How  I  loathed  the 
Gallo-Greek ! 

Madame  Sand  replied  to  me  very  quickly  that 
she  "  liked  my  letter,  and  had  made  Flaubert  like 
it." 

I  learned  from  Madame  Vilbort  that  Sarcey  was 
"  overjoyed "  at  the  success  of  Augier,  a  far 
greater  success  even  than  that  of  the  EfFrontes. 
"  The  conception  of  the  character  of  Giboyer,  who 
is  a  bandit,  and  would  have  his  son  honest,  is  ad- 

[  455  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


mirable,"  Madame  Vilbort  writes.  "  Sarcey — do 
you  remember  our  day  at  Neuilly? — was  right 
when  he  said  that  Augier  was  merely  theatrical  in 
the  theatre.  Ah !  he  is  not  overkind  towards  '  back- 
slidings  ' ;  for  instance,  the  author  of  Fils  de  Giboy- 
er,  or  audacious  cynics,  still  less  they  who  exploit 
reactions  and  use  religion  as  an  instrument!  A 
great  Liberal  breath  permeates  the  play,  adding 
to  Sarcey 's  joy,  who  reiterates,  '  Characters  and 
their  setting,  situations,  action,  morality,  all  are 
admirable,  admirable ! '  You  can  hear  him  saying 
this  from  where  you  are,  I  dare  swear! 

"  You  know,  my  dear  Juliette,  that  I  detest 
Italian  music,  but  it  so  happens  that  I  am  enrap- 
tured with  a  marvellous  singer  named  Patti,  who 
made  her  debut  last  month  in  La  Sonnambule.  She 
warbles  like  a  bird." 

I  met  Merimee,  who  was  acquainted  with  the 
official  news,  moreover,  with  the  recovery  of  the 
Presse  by  Girardin. 

"  He  has  bought  it,"  said  Merimee,  "  for  one- 
fourth  of  the  amount  for  which  he  had  sold  it  to 
Millaud.  Opposition  from  Girardin  will  cause  no 
anxiety  to  the  Empire ;  on  the  contrary,  since  he 
is  the  creator  of  constitutional  opposition.  Then 
he  will,  perhaps,  shake  them  up  a  little,  give  them 
a  few  qualms ;  they  need  it." 

[456] 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

I  inquired,  laughing,  though  sharply,  whether 
the  Emperor  subsidized  the  "  constitutional  "  op- 
position  newspapers.      Merimee  replied   solemnly: 

"  The  Empire,  Madame,  subsidizes  no  one  that 
is  good  to  Republics  !  " 

My  days  were  spent  at  this  time  in  finishing  Mon 
Voyage  autour  du  Grand  Pin,  which  I  submitted 
chapter  by  chapter  to  Jean  Reynaud,  and  in  con- 
tinuing my  daughter's  education  so  wonderfully 
begun  by  my  father.  Did  the  South  awaken  any 
heredity  in  her?  I  constantly  found  her  in  rap- 
tures over  the  sky,  the  sea,  and  "  the  changing 
colours  of  the  Esterel."  Impossible  to  make  her 
learn  any  lessons  out  of  doors.  Her  eyes  could  not 
be  brought  back  to  her  book. 

We  both  accompanied  Jean  Reynaud  in  his  long 
walks,  and  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  what  he 
taught  Alice.  Nothing  amused  him  so  much  as 
my  respect  for  the  small  personality  of  my  daugh- 
ter. I  did  not  force  any  of  my  ideas  upon  her. 
When  I  had  to  teach  her  anything  rather  exalted, 
I  told  her:  "  Grandfather  thinks  like  this,  and  I 
think  like  that;  decide  for  yourself.  Have  your 
own  opinion." 

The  first  time  Jean  Reynaud  heard  me  say  to 
Alice,  who  was  then  seven  and  a  half,  "  Have  your 
own  opinion,"  he  burst  out  laughing,  and  was  be- 

[457] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


ginning  to  make  fun  of  the  phrase  when  my  be- 
seeching look  stopped  him. 

While  my  daughter  was  gathering  flowers  I  said 
to  him: 

"  Tease  me  as  much  as  you  like,  but  not  before 
her.    Remember,  she  has  only  me  to  respect." 

Madame  Jean  Reynaud  organized  an  open-air 
dinner  at  Napoule. 

We  were  to  meet  either  at  La  Bocca  or  at  Na- 
poule, at  the  foot  of  the  old  tower.  We  were  starting 
with  the  provisions  and  servants  when  the  Gamier- 
Pages  arrived  from  Cannet,  the  Chartons  in  a 
brake,  and  Doctor  Maure  in  his  everlasting  little 
closed  coupe.  He  made  a  grimace  on  learning 
we  were  going  to  lunch  out  of  doors,  declared  we 
should  feel  cold,  and  that  it  would  be  better  to 
lunch  at  the  villa,  and  then  visit  Napoule.  No 
one  paid  any  attention.  Jean  Reynaud  had  a 
closed  garden-chair,  a  foot-warmer  with  very  hot 
water,  and  a  fur  rug  placed  in  our  char-a-bancs 
for  the  Doctor ;  then  we  set  out.  The  weather  was 
glorious. 

Our  great  amusement  was  in  settling  the  old 
Doctor,  who  owned  he  was  well  looked  after.  We 
placed  him  with  his  back  to  the  sea,  facing  the  rest 
of  us.  The  foot-warmer  was  still  very  hot,  the  fur 
rug  "  extremely  warm,  but  agreeable,"  he  said,  and 

[  458  ] 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

lunch  was  eaten  at  the  foot  of  the  beautiful  Esterel, 
in  view  of  Cannes,  the  islands,  the  snowy  Alps,  and 
the  infinite  azure  sea. 

"  And  your  Grasse,  Doctor,"  said  Alice,  "  looks 
as  if  it  were  sitting  on  the  mountain  so  as  to  look 
at  you." 

We  applauded  my  daughter's  wit.  The  Doctor 
made  his  grimace,  and  replied  to  Alice : 

"  Grasse  is  thankful,  you  see,  that  I  turn  my 
back  upon  Cannes." 

After  lunch  the  Doctor  was  allowed  to  return  to 
Grasse ;  "  for,"  said  Jean  Reynaud,  "  I  would 
never  dare  take  him  where  I  am  taking  you — to  see 
a  wizard  bone-setter." 

Alice  danced  for  joy  at  the  thought  of  seeing  a 
wizard. 

We  followed  Jean  Reynaud,  and  went  down  to 
the  edge  of  a  torrent  amid  a  tangle  of  verdure. 
There  was  a  quaint  hut  made  of  green  branches  of 
trees,  some  of  which  had  shot  forth.  The  bone- 
setter  had  a  look  of  Edmond,  and  like  him  was 
tall. 

Jean  Reynaud  took  me  by  the  hand  and  said : 

"  This  is  my  daughter ;  she  is  ill.  What  ought 
I  to  do?  "  He  accompanied  the  introduction  by  a 
five-franc  piece. 

"  It  is  drugs  of  the  future  that  you  want." 
30  [  459  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Of  the  future,"  I  answered. 

The  wizard  addressed  himself  to  Jean  Reynaud : 

"  Your  adopted  daughter  is  very  ill,"  he  went 
on. 

We  all  looked  at  one  another. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  adopted?  "  replied  Jean 
Reynaud. 

"  Yes,  adopted,"  repeated  the  wizard.  "  She 
is  not  even  the  daughter  of  your  wife,  but  you  both 
wish  her  well;  make  her  undermine  stone,  build  a 
house,  and  plan  a  garden,  and  she  will  be  better 
than  you  are,  and  as  well  as  I  am." 

Alice  broke  into  a  new  dance,  humming: 

"  We  are  going  to  undermine  stone,  build  a 
house,  plan  a  garden."  She  began  again,  adding 
with  a  stately  courtesy : 

"  Thank  you,  Mister  Wizard." 

"  She  will  remain  nice,"  added  the  bone-setter. 

"  You  say  that  my  .  .  .  adopted  daughter  will 
enjoy  better  health  than  I;  am  I  ill,  then?  "  asked 
Jean  Reynaud,  with  whom  I  had  remained  behind, 
while  the  other  guests  moved  away,  declining  to 
consult  the  wizard. 

"  I  never  say  what  is  unpleasant,"  answered  the 
bone-setter ;  "  but  you  must  look  after  yourself 
carefully  this  summer,  and  beware  of  the  doctors." 

"  You  do  not  like  doctors." 

[460] 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

"  Do  they  like  me?  " 
"  Well,  you  do  them  harm." 
"  As  much  as  I  can,  but  not  as  much  as  I  wish 
to." 

Legouve  now  returned  to  the  Villa  Bocca.  This 
time  he  preceded  Henri  Martin.  There  was  much 
conversation  when  Legouve  was  present.  Jean 
Reynaud  liked  to  discuss  all  his  ideas  with  him. 
They  groaned  over  the  relinquishment  of  the  ideal 
by  the  French  race.  The  exclusive  praise  of  "  prac- 
tical sense  "  seemed  to  them  to  destroy  all  the  illu- 
sion, poetry,  and  heroism  in  us. 

"  The  ideal  even  has  its  market  value,"  said 
Jean  Reynaud.  "  It  is  that  which  gives  us  con- 
sciousness of  beauty,  and  that  taste,  that  art,  which 
are  the  richness  of  our  country.  Yes,  the  beautiful 
has  also  its  use." 

"  It  is  not  to  be  believed,"  added  Legouve.  "  We 
run  after  what  is  vulgar,  coarse,  and  vile.  You 
cannot  imagine  the  absurdities  sung  in  the  music- 
halls.  As  much  trouble  is  taken  in  all  circles  to 
seek  the  unsightly  as  to  discover  the  beautiful. 
The  noble  lord  affects  the  manners  of  the  coach- 
man, the  great  lady  imitates  adventuresses.  Peo- 
ple look  round  them,  and  look  down,  but  no  longer 
look  up." 

[461] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  How  explain,"  Jean  Reynaud  went  on,  "  that 
at  the  moment  one  is  pleased  to  imitate  the  faults 
of  ill  education,  the  stupidly  correct  taste  of  the 
eternal  sameness  predominates.  The  commonplace, 
the  monotonous,  the  absence  of  fancy  and  origi- 
nality, seems  as  if  it  must  ere  long  make  everything 
square,  level,  and  uniform." 

"  If  this  continues  the  future  will  bring  us  but 
few  surprises,  my  poor  friend,"  sighed  Legouve. 
"  No  more  irregularity,  only  levelling !  Have  you 
heard  of  the  new  Petit  Journal  for  one  cent  which 
Millaud  is  going  to  bring  out — the  paper  of  the 
multitude,  written  for  the  multitude  in  the  spirit 
of  the  multitude?  Millaud  said  a  few  days  ago 
before  John  Lemoine,  who  repeated  his  words  to 
me :  '  I  am  going  to  have  full  power  over  the  great 
press,  over  the  great  aristocracy  of  journalism.  I 
will  have  a  million  readers  to  your  thousand,  and 
what  power!  You  cannot  penetrate  the  masses; 
I  will  penetrate  your  classes.  My  newspaper  will 
be  the  only  reading  of  the  masses.  You,  the  great 
of  Paris,  the  denizens  of  the  boulevards  who  be- 
witch you,  you  will  be  a  hundred  miles  away  from 
the  reputation  of  one  of  my  vulgar  editors.  You 
will  see,  you  will  see !  A  novel  in  my  Petit  Journal — 
and  I  have  an  extraordinary  one — will  engross 
France  more  than  the  great  Hugo's  Miserables.' ; 

[462  J 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

"  It  would  seem,  however,  that  there  is  in  Mil- 
laud  a  desire  to  lower  the  intellectual  level  of  the 
upper  classes  rather  than  to  elevate  that  of  the 
lower  classes,"  observed  Jean  Reynaud. 

Legouve  now  left  us,  and  we  all  grieved,  even 
my  daughter,  who  thought  him  adorable. 

Cannes  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  A 
general  meeting,  presided  over  by  the  Duke  of  Val- 
lombrosa,  had  just  decided  to  institute  a  nautical 
club,  where  balls,  concerts,  and  dinners  would  be 
given,  and  which  was  to  be  built  by  our  friend 
Bardu,  that  architect  of  much  taste. 

The  Duke  of  Vallombrosa  devoted  himself  so 
heartily  to  the  interests  of  Cannes  that  under  his 
guidance  the  town  developed  rapidly. 

"  More's  the  pity,"  said  Merimee. 

The  great  distinction,  charm,  elegance,  simplic- 
ity, and  kindliness  of  the  Duke  of  Vallombrosa 
gave  a  perfect  tone  to  Cannes  society.  A  Legit- 
imist, he  was  not  repelled  by  Jean  Reynaud's  and 
my  Republicanism.  The  Imperialism  of  Merimee 
attracted  him  but  little. 

I  went  one  day  with  Alice  to  lunch  at  the  house 
of  Doctor  Maure ;  Merimee  and  Cousin  were  there 
also.  Jean  Reynaud  naturally  was  invited,  and 
declined,  but  knew  full  well  I  was  going.  He  was 
aware  that  I  was  in  the  habit  of  seeing  Merimee, 

[463] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


and  thought  I  could  not  but  be  benefited  by  talking 
of  letters  with  him. 

Merimee  fetched  Cousin  from  the  Villa  des 
Anges — he  would  not  have  come  otherwise.  Cousin 
would  never  have  hired  a  vehicle  to  go  out  to  lunch ! 
We  were  only  six  in  number — Doctor  and  Madame 
Maure,  Merimee,  Cousin,  my  daughter,  and  I. 
Alice,  after  the  first  two  courses,  would  go  and 
play  with  some  friends  she  had  in  Grasse. 

A  more  curious  sight  than  Merimee  and  Cousin 
opposite  one  another  cannot  be  imagined.  It  was 
an  "  expectacle,"  as  they  say  in  Provence.  Cousin 
conversed ;  he  did  not  chatter.  He  seemed  to  work 
out  what  he  intended  to  say  the  first  time.  He 
seemed  to  follow  with  surprise  the  unfolding  of  his 
ideas,  but  the  form  was  completed,  the  expression 
definite,  selected,  grave,  and  scholarly.  He  spoke 
as  one  teaches,  and  grew  excited. 

Merimee,  cold,  sceptical,  and  jeering,  threw  out 
hints  and  allusions,  upon  which  Cousin  flung  him- 
self like  a  puppy  upon  a  stone  that  is  thrown  him, 
and  which  he  rolls  and  rolls.   .  .   . 

The  rhetorical  philosopher  developed  ample  and 
even  indefinite  periods,  while  the  sober  writer  in- 
flicted pauses  or  indicated  the  flow  of  a  word.  The 
one  was  a  pure  spiritualist,  dwelling  in  such  an 
ethereal  height,   to  the   giddy   summit  of  which 

[464] 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

neither  Volarian  Doctor  Maure  could  follow  him 
nor  I,  with  my  Pagan  tendencies.  Still  less 
could  Merimee,  well  grounded  in  materialism,  fol- 
low him — Merimee,  who  did  not  admit  the  divine 
in  any  shape  or  form,  and  who  was  delighted  when 
he  was  able  to  say  he  had  worked  irretrievable  ruin 
on  some  scaffolding  of  the  Hereafter. 

Doctor  Maure  nicknamed  Cousin  "  the  philoso- 
pher " ;  Merimee  "  the  orator  in  philosophy." 

Cousin  always  paid  a  gentle  homage  to  me, 
whatever  the  sly  Doctor  might  say  as  to  his  no 
more  being  able  to  distinguish  the  sexes  than  veal 
from  pheasant.  He  had  employed  all  his  senti- 
mentality in  the  service  of  the  society  dames  of 
the  eighteenth  century. 

My  daughter  soon  asked  permission  to  go  and 
play.  Madame  Maure  gave  her  a  small  basket  of 
cakes  and  fruit  and  despatched  her  to  her  friends. 

Every  instant  Doctor  Maure  would  remark: 

"  Now,  Cousin,  take  this ;  it  is  simply  delicious. 
Be  present  once  at  least.  If  you  have  never  really 
loved,  you  might  for  once  really  eat !  " 

"What!  he  has  never  really  loved?  He?  But 
do  you  not  know,"  replied  Merimee,  "  that  he  is 
one  of  the  hes  of  Madame  Collet  ?  " 

"  Merimee,"  answered  Cousin,  "  you  are  spiteful 
and  say  things  which  wound  me." 

[465] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Very  well,  I  regretfully  withdraw  my  words, 
for  there  was  in  them  matter  for  good  joking." 

"  What  a  pity,"  sighed  Doctor  Maure,  who  con- 
sidered that  broad  jesting  at  table  gave  a  spice 
to  the  dishes ;  "  when  one  lunches  with  Cousin,  who 
is  '  straitlaced,'  there  only  remains  the  '  good 
cheer,'  to  which  he  is  quite  indifferent." 

"  At  table  Cousin  is  absent,"  added  Merimee, 
in  revenge.  "  You,  Doctor,  are  doubly  present. 
Cousin  scorns  sensuality,  and  you,  Maure,  think  of 
nothing  else." 

"  One  strives  to  preserve  a  few  feelings  in- 
tact." 

When  Cousin  became  too  irritating  on  account 
of  his  insensibility  to  good  cheer,  Doctor  Maure 
would  speak  to  him  of  Taine,  whose  most  stinging 
remarks  he  knew  by  heart. 

The  "  philosopher "  suffered  more  from  these 
criticisms  than  any  one  else,  for  his  vanity  was 
great.     No  one  felt  the  loss  of  popularity  more. 

Upon  the  occasion  in  question  Cousin  partook  of 
some  breast  of  boned  quail,  very  delicately  stuffed ; 
and  as  Merimee  and  I  repeatedly  said  "  It  is  ex- 
quisite," Cousin,  fearing  to  repeat  the  mistake  he 
had  once  made  about  the  veal,  so  frequently  re- 
curred to  by  Doctor  Maure,  remarked  to  Madame 
Maure : 

[466] 


JJ 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

"  This  '  pheasant '  is  delicious." 

Doctor  Maure  bounded  in  his  seat. 

"  Taine  is  right  in  thinking  you   .   .   .  vague, 
he   cried.      "  You   are   incapable  of   an   authentic 
statement." 

"  If  I  were  to  feed  upon  priests,  as  Merimee  does, 
I  would  soon  know  them  again." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  go  to  mass,  Cousin,"  replied 
Merimee ;  "  but  you  are  nothing  but  a  hypocrite. 
You  are  no  more  a  believer  than  I  am !  " 

"  Hush !  take  care  of  the  servants.  Be  cynical 
among  people  of  importance,  but  not  with  those 
of  lesser  degree." 

"  Would  you  go  to  mass  on  account  of  your 
servants?  " 

"  As  an  example,  yes ;  and  even,  if  you  will,  on 
account  of  my  servants." 

"  Here  is  a  sentiment  I  intend  to  repeat,"  said 
the  Doctor. 

"  My  dear  Maure,  repeat  my  sentiment  as  often 
as  it  pleases  you.  I  will  explain  it.  Do  you 
imagine  I  can  make  the  morality  of  my  philosophy 
intelligible  to  my  governess  and  my  cook?  It  is 
far  simpler  to  accept  apparently  the  forms  of  their 
belief,  because  I  believe  as  they  do  at  heart  under 
another  form,  and  it  is  in  what  they  believe  that 
they  find  the  virtue  of  serving  me  faithfully  and 

[467] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


honestly.     I  have  a  horror  of  unbelievers,  and  were 

I  not  so  fond  of  Merimee " 

"  You  would  be  fond  of  .  .  .  spinach !  " 
"  Tell  me,  Merimee,  do  you  read  the  Samedis 
of  Pontmartin  ?  "  asked  Cousin,  after  a  pause. 

"  No ;  I  read  the  Lundis  of  Sainte-Beuve ;  he  has 
wit." 

"  Always  wit.     That  is  all  you  talk  of,  except 
when  it  is  a  question  of  spiritualism.     A  thought 
interests  you  a  hundred  times  less  than  a  spark  of 
wit,  so  naturally  Sainte-Beuve  delights  you." 
"  Better  than  that ;  he  diverts  me." 
"  Are  you  pointing  your  remark  at  me?  " 
"  My   dear   Cousin,  you  never  bore  me,  but   I 
confess    that    your    eloquence    occasionally    over- 
whelms me." 

"  To  overwhelm  is  not  much  better  than  to  bore." 
"  Pardon  me,  boredom  sterilizes ;  the  tide  ferti- 
lizes as  it  retreats." 

"  You  are  a  perfect  ironical  courtier." 
"  A  courtier !  /  a  courtier !  "  cried  Merimee. 
"  Yes ;  there  are  many  people  who,  speaking  of 
you  as  one  of  our  greatest  writers,  add, '  the  author 
of  the  fortunes  of  the  Empress.'  I  know  the  story 
of  the  correspondence  between  Mademoiselle  de 
Monti  jo  and  the  Emperor  at  Compiegne.  I  know 
it,  so  that  you  cannot  deny  it.' 

[468] 


5> 


CHARLES  AUGUSTIN  STE.  BEUVE. 
From  au  etching  by  H.  E.  Lessore. 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

Merimee  did  not  like  joking,  and  Doctor  Maure 
intimated  to  me  without  speaking  that  matters 
were  going  badly.  I  was  not  pleased  either,  for 
what  could  I  learn  by  allowing  Merimee  and 
Cousin  to  insult  one  another?  I  much  preferred 
hearing  them  simply  tease  one  another.  I  inter- 
rupted the  conversation  by  saying  that  one  of  my 
friends  had  written  to  me  that  on  going  to  see 
Victor  Hugo  in  Brussels  he  had  told  him  how  his 
Parisian  admirers  mourned  his  interminable  exile. 

"  I  do  not  feel  an  exile,"  answered  Victor  Hugo. 
"  What  is  one's  mother  country,  after  all?  An 
idea!" 

Never  was  a  storm  more  successfully  averted. 

"  Our  mother  country  an  idea !  "  cried  Merimee. 
"  When  it  is  the  picture  of  all  that  is  most  tangible 
in  the  world,  flesh  of  our  flesh,  spirit  of  our  spirit, 
heart  of  our  heart !  It  is  the  living  amalgamation 
of  our  ancestors,  our  fathers,  ourselves,  the  vibra- 
tion of  all  our  voices !  Language,  tradition,  sci- 
ence, art,  letters,  it  is  that  which  triturates  them  to 
make  them  French.  I  could  speak  for  five  hours 
at  a  stretch  upon  patriotism,  as  Cousin  talks  upon 
philosophy.  I  overflow  with  it.  People  say  I  be- 
lieve in  nothing.  I  believe  in  'Her,'  our  France. 
I  am  her  adoring  son,  and  worship  her  even  to 
fanaticism !  " 

[469] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Ah!  had  I  then  felt  what  I  was  to  experience  so 
keenly  after  our  defeats,  how  I  would  have  ap- 
plauded that  splendid  outburst  coming  from  a  man 
usually  so  cold  and  sceptical.  I  looked  at  Merimee 
with  amazement,  as  did  Cousin  and  Doctor  Maure. 

"  See  here,"  added  Merimee,  abruptly.  "  I  love 
the  Empire.  I  believe  it  is  necssary  to  lay  the 
Revolutionary  dust,  but  with  the  Empire  I  know 
that  France  is  in  danger  from  European  coalitions 
and  invasion.  That  is  why  my  patriotism,  ever 
on  guard,  is  violent.  Were  France  ever  invaded, 
it  would  kill  me." 

These  words  of  Merimee  awoke  sentiments  still 
embryonic  in  my  heart.  I  loved  France,  French 
Gaul,  yes,  exclusively ;  but  I  did  not  feel  that  wild 
passion  for  the  mother  country.  French  victories 
filled  me  with  pride,  but  the  distant  defeats  of  our 
soldiers  moved  me  but  little.  They  seemed  to  me 
those  of  the  Empire. 

Nevertheless,  after  this  outburst,  I  felt  more 
drawn  towards  Merimee.  His  scepticism  was 
merely  a  pose — perhaps  a  feeling  of  modesty — to 
conceal  an  ardent  nature  and  extreme  sensibility. 
His  faithful  friendship  for  Stendhal,  all  he  did 
for  Libri,  maintaining  his  innocence  with  such  de- 
votion, even  to  penalty  and  imprisonment;  his 
brotherly  affection  for  Bixio  proved  his  goodness 

[470] 


THE    SOUTH    AND    THE    SEA    AGAIN 

of  heart,  like  the  Prise  de  la  Redoute,  and  all  I  had 
just  heard  proved  his  patriotism. 

Cousin  told  us  about  his  great  publication,  His- 
toire  Generale  de  la  Philosophic  depuis  les  Temps 
les  plus  Recules  jusqu  a  la  fin  du  XVIII  Siecle. 

"  You  will  go  no  further  ?  "  asked  Merimee. 

"  No." 

"  He  ought  to  speak,"  added  Doctor  Maure, 
with  his  customary  grimace,  "  of  Comte,  Littre, 
Renouvier,  and  Taine ;  but  what  can  you  expect  ?  ' 


[471] 


CHAPTER    XVIII 


D 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

HE  municipality  of  Vallauris  wished  to  estab- 
lish a  winter  resort  at  the  Golfe  Juan,  and 
offered  a  piece  of  ground  to  Jean  Reynaud  and  to 
me  on  condition  that  we  would  each  build  a  house 
thereon. 

Jean  Reynaud  received  the  letter  in  the  morn- 
ing. He  spoke  to  me  about  it  at  breakfast,  where- 
upon Alice  began  to  sing: 

"  Stone  to  mine,  a  house  to  build,  a  garden  to 
plan." 

I  laughed  heartily. 

"Why  not?"  said  Jean  Reynaud.  "Why 
should  your  relatives  not  come  every  winter  to  you, 
if  you  think  they  are  determined  to  spend  the  sum- 
mer in  Paris?  The  health  of  both  you  and  your 
daughter  will  make  it  necessary  for  you  to  live  in 
the  South  for  some  time  to  come.  I  will  help  you 
to  build  a  small  house,  and,  if  we  are  careful,  it 
will  not  be  too  costly.  The  Golfe  Juan  is  charm- 
ing. Let  us  go  there  this  afternoon  and  choose 
our  land." 

"  Let  us  choose  our  land,"  I  repeated,  gaily. 

[472] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

Alice  and  I  were  of  the  same  opinion.  Here 
was  our  ground,  upon  the  road  and  as  close  as 
possible  to  the  sea,  between  two  streams.  The 
farther  end  formed  a  hilly  curve,  like  the  back  of 
an  armchair.  Flowering  broom  grew  thickly  be- 
tween the  pines  and  gave  forth  a  smell  of  almond 
which  was  intoxicating.  This  should  be  called 
"  Les  Bruyeres." 

Jean  Reynaud  approved,  unsmilingly. 

"  We  must  not,"  said  he,  "  accept  this  ground 
gratis,  but  pay  its  utmost  value  at  this  moment, 
namely,  one  franc  per  metre." 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,  I  have  not  a  farthing, 
and  you  seem  to  speak  seriously." 

"  I  am  as  serious  as  possible.  Your  father  must 
buy  it." 

"  From  a  distance,  without  having  seen  it?  r 

"  Leave  it  to  me." 

My  "  Cannes  papa "  wrote  to  my  "  Chauny 
papa."  What  said  he?  Always  spontaneous,  my 
father  replied  that  he  was  sending  ten  thousand 
francs  for  two  acres. 

Alice  and  I  were  frantic  with  joy,  and  repeated 
all  day :  "  Stone  to  mine,  a  house  to  build,  a  garden 
to  plan." 

Jean  Reynaud  triumphed,  and  on  March  12th 
acquired  the  Bruyeres  ground  at  Vallauris  as  my 

[473] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


father's  proxy.  For  himself,  he  purchased  another 
plot  of  ground  nearer  the  Golfe  Juan  beach  than 
Bruyeres. 

We  made  nothing  but  house  plans  during  our 
walks  on  the  roads,  on  the  seashore,  and  at  night  in 
the  lamplight. 

Bruyeres  was  to  be  quite  small,  but  large  enough 
to  house  comfortably  Alice  and  me,  my  father  and 
my  mother. 

I  wanted,  in  spite  of  some  opposition  from  Jean 
Reynaud,  who  afterward  came  round  to  my  opin- 
ion, to  build  the  house  upon  the  highest  point  upon 
the  plateau.  In  fact,  I  should  have,  by  levelling 
the  plateau,  stones  at  hand  to  build  the  house, 
which  would  be  most  economical.  My  apprentice- 
ship as  an  architect  made  progress  rapidly.  I  en- 
gaged a  plain  master  mason  from  Antibes,  and  be- 
hold, I  began  "  to  undermine  stone."  Very  early 
each  morning  I  started  for  Bruyeres  with  Alice  and 
Angelique,  and  we  worked  in  the  garden  with  the 
brother  of  my  servant,  Andre,  a  sturdy  lad  of 
eighteen,  who  was  to  be  the  "  gardener "  at 
Bruyeres.  Jean  Reynaud  allowed  me  to  arrange 
my  garden  alone. 

I  hastily  finished  the  manuscript  of  my  Voyage 
autour  du  Grand  Pin  and  sent  it  to  Hetzel.  I  was 
therefore    free   to   devote   myself   to   "  Bruyeres." 

[474] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

Jean  Raynaud  always  addressed  me  as  Madame 
l'Architecte.  My  daughter  was  now  more  than 
ever  "  the  lady  in  a  hurry,"  for  she  took  a  serious 
part  in  the  work,  and  spoke  every  minute  of  "  my 
Bruyeres." 

I  was  anxious  that  we  should  be  able  to  go  into 
our  new  abode  the  following  autumn.  As  for  Jean 
Reynaud,  he  had  his  villa  at  La  Bocca,  and  had 
no  need  to  hurry  over  the  one  at  the  Golfe 
Juan,  but  I  did  not  want  to  rent  again  the  Villa 
Arluc. 

My  father  could  only  give  me  fifteen  thousand 
francs  for  my  house,  but  would  send  me  all  the 
furniture,  for  there  was  sufficient  at  Chauny  to 
furnish  Bruyeres,  and,  later  on,  our  small  flat  in 
Paris. 

My  father  consented,  when  he  should  have  seen 
Bruyeres,  to  sell  Chauny,  and  spend  the  winter  at 
Bruyeres  and  the  summer  in  Paris.  Alice  and  I 
were  overjoyed  to  think  we  should  no  more  be 
separated  from  the  adored  grandparents. 

"  I  am  getting  strong,"  Alice  informed  me, 
"  doing  the  garden  at  Bruyeres,  and  will  defend 
you  and  grandfather  against  grandmother  when 
she  scolds  you." 

There  could  be  no  cellar  at  Bruyeres,  it  would 
have  cost  too  much. 

31  [  475  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


As  soon  as  the  walls  were  raised  I  planted  flowers 
at  the  foot  along  the  front  of  a  rose-covered  trellis 
which  would  entirely  cover  the  house.  At  both 
corners  I  placed  some  huge  passion-flower  plants 
which  had  been  given  to  me.  These  would  adorn 
the  two  balconies  with  their  graceful  boughs  and 
large  blue  flowers. 

The  plateau  was  exceedingly  fine,  carriages 
would  be  able  to  turn  with  ease,  and  it  was  shaded 
by  pines  at  the  farther  end. 

Perrinette,  a  small  sister  of  Angelique,  had  just 
lost  her  situation.  She  was  fifteen  years  old,  and 
her  brother  and  sister  were  much  distressed.  I 
engaged  her.  My  future  domestic  arrangements 
were  therefore  settled  at  no  great  expense.  One  of 
my  Brigasques  would  look  after  the  house  in  the 
summer,  and  the  two  others  would  return  to  the 
mountains  and  come  back  to  Bruyeres  when  I  did. 

Perrinette  worked  like  a  horse  in  the  garden, 
and  Alice  never  left  her.  She  was  her  "  lady's 
maid." 

All  the  neighbouring  peasants  were  friendly  to 
me.  One  would  bring  me  aloes,  others  ice-plants, 
palms,  and  orange-trees.  My  nearest  neighbour 
offered  me  a  dozen  olive-trees ;  these  I  planted  on 
the  terrace.  All  my  garden  was  to  be  made 
out  of  the  proceeds  of  my  Recits  d'une  Paysanne, 

[476] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

and  Alice  and  I  resolved  we  would  buy  neither  hats 
nor  dresses  that  year. 

My  terrace  was  a  hundred  metres  in  length.  It 
required  but  little  arranging,  thanks  to  the  small 
supporting  wall  which  formed  the  boundary  of  my 
property  upon  the  road.  My  three  Brigasques,  with 
baskets  called  couffins  upon  their  heads,  worked 
in  such  a  way  that  they  covered  this  splendid  ter- 
race with  fine  gravel  in  a  few  days.  On  Sunday 
Andre,  after  asking  me  for  a  wall  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road,  dug  up  the  ground  and  made  a  kitchen 
garden.  Thus  he  would  be  able  to  have  vegetables 
in  the  summer,  and  I  should  profit  thereby  in  the 
winter. 

"  Bruyeres  started  with  a  wizard,  and  now  there 
are  fairies,"  Jean  Reynaud  would  say  to  us.  He 
was  amazed  at  what  we  could  do  out  of  very  little. 

Grave  discussions  arose  between  Jean  Reynaud 
and  me.  He,  being  an  engineer,  was  anxious  to 
lay  out  my  road,  and  feared  I  should  spoil  all  the 
good  I  had  hitherto  done.  He  approved  of  my 
garden,  certainly;  there  only  remained  the  road 
to  be  made  according  to  all  the  rules  of  art. 

It  was  impossible  to  agree.  Jean  Reynaud  drew 
plans  upon  paper.  I  drove  sticks  into  my  ground. 
He  spoiled  everything  with  his  road,  under  pretence 
that  it  was  necessary  to  lay  out  the  slope  which  we 

[477] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


could  not  go  beyond,  six  centimetres  to  a  metre; 
endless  circumlocution !  I  argued,  and  Jean  Rey- 
naud  scolded  me  for  my  obstinacy. 

"  Here,"  I  said,  "  is  my  road  as  I  imagine  it. 
It  divides  my  ground  into  two  portions ;  begins  by 
a  gentle  slope,  for  I  will  only  give  it  the  traditional 
five  centimetres  of  the  slope  to  the  foot  of  my 
plateau ;  but  once  there,  hey  !  presto !  A  good  cut 
with  the  whip,  there  is  an  incline  of  twenty  centi- 
metres ;  it  is  somewhat  steep,  but  one  can  make  an 
effort  to  reach  it." 

Jean  Reynaud  subsided,  and  raising  his  hat, 
said: 

"  Oh !  ingenious  lady,  you  are  right,  and  that 
is  the  solution.  The  road  stretching  with  a  gentle 
slope  in  the  centre  of  your  ground  will  require  an 
effort  to  climb.  Put  back  your  sticks,  your  road 
will  be  where  you  wished.  Now,"  he  added,  "  you 
only  need  water;  try  to  get  it.  I  tell  you  I  think 
it  will  be  difficult,  if  not  impossible." 

I  hesitated  to  disclose  my  plan  to  Jean  Reynaud. 

"  I  should  like,"  I  said  timidly,  "  my  well  to  be 
there.  It  would  be  reached  by  a  small  staircase, 
and  would  not  be  far  from  the  kitchen.  I 
would  make  a  footpath  covered  with  Japanese 
medlars." 

"  There  can  be  no  well  except  near  a  torrent," 

[478] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

replied  Jean  Reynaud.  "  The  spot  you  are  show- 
ing me  is  in  the  heart  of  the  granite  of  the  plateau. 
Have  you  tried  boring?  " 

"  No,  but  I  think  I  shall  find  water  within  seven 
metres." 

"  May  one  inquire  upon  what  you  base  your 
omniscience  in  this  matter?  " 

"  Upon  the  fact  that  ...  all  my  joys  and  sor- 
rows are  numbered  by  seven." 

"  And  why  should  seven  metres  with  water  be  a 
joy  rather  than  a  misfortune  without  water?  " 

"  Because  I  am  lucky  at  Bruyeres." 

"  Your  argument  is  incontestable !  " 

"  Are  you  laughing  at  me  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  expect  me  not  to  laugh?  It  is 
ridiculous !  " 

I  hesitated  to  sink  my  well.  But  ...  I  remem- 
bered the  words  of  my  friend  Arles-Duf our :  "  Only 
the  crazy  ever  succeed."  So  I  began  operations. 
The  first  three  metres  were  easily  excavated,  four 
and  five,  also  six — granite — and  no  water,  not  a 
sign  of  moisture.  Agand,  my  foreman,  in  spite 
of  the  respect  to  which  I  inspired  him  as  an  archi- 
tect and  an  engineer,  strongly  doubted  my  science 
as  a  well-sinker. 

My  daughter,  who  was  hurt  by  the  comments 
passed  by  Jean  Reynaud,  and  heard  the  workmen 

[479] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


laughing  at  me,   advised  me   to   go   and   see   the 
wizard,  adding: 

"  He  never  said  '  sink  a  well,  nor  make  a  road,' 
nevertheless,  my  road  is  a  great  success." 

"  That  is  true,  darling  little  mother.  You  still 
have  hopes  for  the  water?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  how  pleased  I  would  be !  If  there  were 
water  in  your  well  I  would  drink  it  all  day 
long." 

"  Moreover,  that  would  be  pure  crystal  water 
from  the  rock,"  said  I  to  myself. 

Six  metres  and  a  half — nothing!  There  I  was, 
busy  since  early  morning.  I  could  not  eat  any 
lunch,  neither  could  my  daughter.  I  surprised 
Angelique  and  Perrinette  with  tears  in  their  eyes. 
Andre  looked  furiously  at  the  workmen  engaged 
in  building  the  house,  and  who  had  come  to  the 
well  after  their  dinner  with  countenances  freely 
expressing  their  amusement. 

Agand  came  down  to  me. 

"Are  we  going  on?"  he  asked  me,  and  the 
workmen  burst  out  laughing. 

Andre  struck  the  one  who  laughed  loudest.  Both 
were  Italians.     Knives  flashed. 

I  flung  myself  between  them. 

"  Wait  until  there  is  water  in  the  well  with  which 

[480] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

to  bathe  the  wounds,"  I  said  to  them.     All  thought 
me  mad. 

At  four  o'clock  a  well-sinker  came  up  with  livid 
countenance;  we  could  scarcely  catch  the  word, 
"  Water." 

A  joyful  dance  followed.  My  daughter,  An- 
gelique,  Perrinette,  and  Andre  went  on  to  the  ter- 
race and  danced  a  Piedmontese  measure,  crying : 

"  Water !  water !  "  All  the  workmen,  headed  by 
Agand,  rushed  to  the  well. 

"  Water,  indeed !  You  are  a  witch ! "  said 
Agand  to  me. 

Andre  ran  to  the  Golfe  Juan,  where  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Jean  Reynaud  were  laying  out  their 
garden,  calling  out  to  them :  "  Water !  water !  " 

The  news  spread.  People  came  from  all  parts  of 
the  neighbourhood,  and  my  friends  were  all  de- 
lighted. Madame  Jean  Reynaud  embraced  me, 
and  Jean  Reynaud  said : 

"  Obstinate  child,  praise  God,  who  protects 
you." 

Personally,  I  thought  that  .  .  .  Apollo  guided 
and  helped  me. 

When  I  left  Bruyeres  to  return  to  Paris,  Andre 
remained  on  account  of  the  garden  and  the  work- 
men ;  there  would  be  furniture  to  receive,  too.  All 
was  going  on  capitally. 

[481] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


On  leaving,  Alice  threw  kisses  to  her  house  and 
garden,  crying: 

"  Good-b3re,  my  Bruyeres. 


»5 


Although  Jean  Reynaud  wrote  to  my  father, 
"  Your  daughters  are  like  flowers  revived  by  the 
sun.  In  spite  of  your  medical  experience  you 
will  not  be  able  to  credit  the  efficacy  and  prompti- 
tude of  the  remedy ;  it  is  the  land  of  sunshine  for 
both  of  them,"  my  father  could  scarce  believe  his 
eyes  when  he  saw  us  again. 

The  train  now  started  from  Cannes;  although 
we  did  not  break  our  journey  at  Oullins,  being  im- 
patient to  "  tell  them  all  about  Bruyeres,"  we  were 
not  at  all  tired;  and  what  sunburned  faces,  what 
appetites  we  had! 

I  reduced  my  colour  slightly  at  Chauny,  for  I 
looked  like  a  mole,  and  finally  arrived  in  Paris, 
happy  to  see  my  friends  again,  to  exchange  ideas 
with  them,  for  I  had  hardly  answered  their  letters, 
living  as  I  did  the  life  of  an  engineer,  architect, 
gardener,  and  well-sinker. 

Madame  d'Agoult  was  amused  by  all  my  ac- 
counts, and  Madame  de  Pierreclos  invited  herself 
for  the  autumn.  She  was  anxious  to  spend  the 
first  fortnight  at  Bruyeres.  Edmond  Adam  and 
Edmond  Texier  vowed  they  would  come  and  see 

[  482  ] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

me  the  following  winter  and  build  a  house  next  to 
mine. 

Hardly  had  I  returned  to  Paris  when  the  disso- 
lution of  the  legislative  body  threw  us  all  into  a 
state  of  excitement.  This  was  the  signal  for 
action. 

The  "Little  Olliviers,"  first  of  all,  declared 
loudly  that  the  influence  of  Carnot,  and  the  ad- 
herents of  Simon  in  the  interior,  must  be  done  away 
with;  and  that  of  the  followers  of  Louis  Blanc, 
Charras,  Victor  Hugo,  Ledru-Rollin,  Barbes,  out- 
side. 

Carnot  entered  into  the  lists  and  formed  a  com- 
mittee, he,  the  weakened  non-oath-taker.  Jules 
Simon  manoeuvred  to  obtain  a  place  here  and  there. 
Never  at  any  moment  of  his  life  had  he  taken 
greater  pains  to  perform  the  opposite  of  what  he 
said.  He  attacked  Ollivier,  preached  fidelity  to  ab- 
stention on  one  side ;  on  the  other,  he  intrigued  with 
Havin,  so  as  to  be  "  forced  "  to  accept  a  candidate- 
ship. 

We,  in  our  small  circle,  were  in  union  with  the 
exiled  ones  who  advocated  abstention,  and  wrote: 

"  Our  greatest  enemies  during  these  last  years 
have  been  the  pseudo-democrats  of  the  legislative 
body,  from  Jules  Favre  to  Darimon,  from  Girar- 
din  to  Havin;  likewise  the  real  supporters  of  the 

[483] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Empire,  those  to  whom  it  looks  to  prolong  its  life, 
are  the  candidates  of  the  opposition." 

We  found  proofs  of  the  trickery  of  Ollivier  and 
Havin  with  Morny  everywhere.  They  understood 
one  another  thoroughly.  Morny  was  the  first  to 
speak  of  the  gradual  establishment  of  liberty. 

Efforts  for  a  reconciliation  with  the  enemies  of 
the  Empire  were  made  among  all  the  party  divi- 
sions, but  the  Liberal  union  did  not  appear  likely 
to  come  to  anything.  Thiers,  Changarnier,  Cochin, 
Mortimer-Ternaux,  the  Prince  de  Broglie,  Prevost- 
Paradol,  Jules  Simon,  and  Carnot  held  a  meeting 
at  the  house  of  the  Due  de  Broglie,  and  sought  to 
come  to  an  understanding.  As  the  abstentionists 
counted  with  the  Broglie  Committee  and  the 
Carnot  Committee,  it  was  impossible  to  come  to 
any  arrangement. 

A  manifesto  was  announced  bearing  the  names 
of  Carnot,  Garnier-Pages,  Henri  Martin,  Jules 
Simon,  and  Marie;  there,  perhaps,  would  be  union? 

But  now  Monsieur  Thiers,  after  intimating  that 
he  would  accept  a  candidateship,  and  then  refusing 
it,  reaccepted  it. 

What!  the  assassin  of  the  Rue  Transnonain, 
the  enemy  of  universal  suffrage,  turning  to  uni- 
versal suffrage?  What!  he  who  had  been  the  most 
implacable  of  all  with  respect  to  the  violation  of  an 

[484] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

oath,  would  take  his  oath  ?  Democrats  and  absten- 
tionists  agreed  in  thinking  the  affair  somewhat 
strange;  but  circulars  by  Monsieur  de  Persigny 
and  Monsieur  Haussman  attacked  Monsieur  Thiers 
with  such  violence  that  they  plainly  stamped  him 
in  the  eyes  of  every  one  as  the  enemy  of  the  Empire, 
and  his  candidateship  made  rapid  progress. 

Proudhon  had  no  very  marked  success  with  his 
personal  abstentionist  manifesto,  counselling  peo- 
ple to  vote  for  the  white  bulletin. 

With  this  the  Opposition  carried  Guerault,  Im- 
perialist, the  "  Five  "  candidate  who  declared  that 
the  "  Five "  must  pass  before  all  other  compe- 
tition. 

Ronchaud  told  me",  too,  that  a  committee  of 
twenty-five  was  being  formed  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Temple,  which  Laurent  Pichat  was  harbouring. 
This  committee,  however,  perished  almost  as  soon 
as  it  was  made. 

Neither  Guerault,  Nefftzer,  nor  Havin  "  em- 
barked." There  was  a  strong  polemic  with  Girar- 
din  against  the  pretentiousness  of  the  "  Five,"  who, 
on  their  own  authority,  had  constituted  themselves 
an  electoral  committee.  Nefftzer  only  asked  that 
the  said  "  Five  "  would  kindly — so  that  his  re- 
ligion might  be  enlightened — give  "  a  collective  ex- 
pression of  the   political   idea  which  bound  them 

[  485] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


together."  It  would  be  difficult  to  reply  to  this. 
The  "  Five  "  parried  the  question  by  publishing 
an  address  to  the  electors,  which  was  a  simple  ac- 
count of  their  works. 

Laboulaye  retired  into  the  second  circumscrip- 
tion before  the  candidateship  of  Monsieur  Thiers, 
which  was  not  going  forward  as  it  should,  in  spite 
of  the  adherence  of  the  Butte  des  Moulins  commit- 
tee expressed  to  Monsieur  Thiers  by  the  delegates, 
among  whom  appeared,  for  the  first  time,  the  name 
Spuller. 

Jules  Simon  took  the  oath !  He  was  a  candidate ! 
It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  general  amazement. 
Only  the  day  before  he  had  written :  "  It  would 
have  been  a  good  thing  to  bring  in  Lavertujon. 
He  has  chances  in  Bordeaux,  and  perhaps  would 
have  decided  a  course  opposed  to  that  of  Ollivier, 
for  there  is  danger  indeed  in  seeing  this  youthful- 
ness  entering  upon  the  course  which  strives  to  rec- 
oncile the  pleasures  of  popularity  with  the  ad- 
vantages of  possibility." 

And  it  was  he,  Jules  Simon,  who  held  out  his 
hand  to  Ollivier.  Charras,  in  indignation,  made 
public  a  letter  written  by  Jules  Simon.  Here  is 
an  extract  therefrom :  "As  it  pleased  the  illustrious 
'  Five  '  to  join  the  dance  and  think  themselves  the 
representative  of  a  party  which  thrusts  them  back, 

[486] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

the  truth  would  be  to  proclaim  loudly  that  the 
party  itself  drives  them  back." 

There  was  considerable  uproar  at  this  time  over 
a  Mexican  victory.  Puebla  was  ours !  And  when 
should  we  possess  Mexico?  said  those  people  insa- 
tiable for  conquests  in  the  New  World. 

Puebla  reminded  me  of  a  dispute  between  Doctor 
Maure  and  Merimee,  which  I  had  witnessed  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year.  Both  were  speaking  of  the 
Mexican  War. 

"  An  unpleasant  business  and  absurd  venture. 
Jecker  bonds  are  not  good ;  that  is  the  opinion  held 
by  Thiers,"  said  Doctor  Maure. 

"  Your  Thiers  is  a  small  man  with  a  small  mind 
and  a  small  outlook,"  replied  Merimee.  "  Did  he 
not  deny  the  possibility  of  railways,  and  of  the  en- 
franchisement of  the  vile  multitude?  He  does  not 
see  an  inch  beyond  his  spectacles.  Rouher  is  right, 
Mexico  is  the  most  important  thing  in  this  reign. 
If  a  powerful  empire  is  not  founded  in  Central 
America  to  balance  the  development  of  the  United 
States,  in  another  fifty  years  it  will  be  too  late. 
You  may  write  that  to  Thiers  from  me !  " 

Doctor  Maure  and  I  gloated  over  the  sentiment 
Merimee  had  gleaned  from  Rouher,  and  which  he 
repeated  like  a  parrot. 

I  went  to  the  Salon  with  Ronchaud  and  Burty, 

[487] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


whom  Ronchaud  introduced  to  me.  Burty  is  as- 
sistant to  Charles  Blanc,  brother  to  Louis  Blanc, 
on  the  Gazette  des  Beaux  Arts,  and  had  lately 
joined  the  staff  of  the  Presse,  for  which  he  wrote 
artistic  reviews.  The  great  attraction  and  subject 
of  discussion  in  the  Salon  that  year  was  the  Travail 
and  the  Repos,  by  Puvis  de  Chavannes. 

"  One  likes  or  does  not  like  Puvis  de  Chavannes," 
said  Burty.  "  There  is  such  personality  in  his 
work  that  many  people  resist  that  which  this  per- 
sonality wishes  to  impose ;  but,  whether  one  says  it, 
or  is  content  in  merely  thinking  so,  it  is  impossible 
to  deny  that  he  is  a  master.  I  have  seen  drawings 
of  his  which  might  well  have  been  signed  by  the 
greatest  of  his  ancestors." 

I  stayed  for  some  time  before  a  certain  picture, 
Un  Paysan  se  reposant  sur  sa  Houx,  by  Millet. 
Burty  showed  me  the  Corbeaux,  by  Harpignies, 
and  the  Prisonier  et  le  Boucher  turc,  by  Gerome. 

"  Saint-Victor,  Maxime  du  Camp,  About,  were 
rampant  about  Gerome,"  said  Burty ;  "  and  I  must 
own  he  is  too  fond  of  catching  the  eye  of  the  pub- 
lic ;  but  he  has  qualities  of  technique,  if  not  of  life, 
which  have  their  value." 

"  Here  is  one,"  said  Ronchaud,  showing  us  the 
Martyre  de  Saint  Andre,  by  Bonnat,  "  who  is  be- 
ginning to  be  himself,  although  this  picture  again 

[488] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

recalls  Ribeira  and  the  Martyre  de  Saint  Janvier; 
but  there  are  portions  which  prognosticate  a 
Bonnat." 

Ronchaud  looked  for  a  Henner,  and  showing  it 
to  me,  added :  "  This  one  teems  with  paganism ; 
these  nude  saints  were  Naiades  once." 

There  was  a  general  ebullition  the  last  day  of 
May  that  year.  Agitation  fluttered  around  the 
newspapers,  excepting  the  Temps.  Nefftzer  took 
no  part  in  the  absorbing  electoral  campaign  which 
was  proceeding,  pretending  that  in  the  event  of  a 
great  victory  the  liberties  given  to  the  press  would 
be  withdrawn.  He  had  not  much  to  be  proud  of, 
it  is  true,  in  all  he  did  for  Ollivier  in  1857.  He 
was  tired  of  being  duped  by  candidates. 

Jecker  bonds  served  as  projectiles  to  the  opposi- 
tion. Moray  was  constantly  concerned  in  all  this. 
Jecker,  the  banker,  had  been  naturalized,  people 
said,  in  order  to  be  able  to  claim  his  money  from 
the  Mexican  Government.  Everything  said  in  am- 
biguous terms  in  the  Chamber  was  exaggerated  in 
conversations. 

At  lunch  one  day  Girardin  told  Madame 
d'Agoult  and  me  that  in  the  debate  upon  certain 
candidateships  there  were  some  intensely  comical 
occurrences.     Havin,  among  others,  clung  desper- 

[489] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


ately  to  a  circumscription,  which  he  refused  to 
give  up,  though  it  was  to  his  own  interest  to  do  so, 
it  being  the  circumscription  of  Picard.  Finally, 
the  avowal  was  wrung  from  him  that  "  it  was  the 
one  where  the  Siecle  had  most  subscribers."  "  Very 
well,"  Girardin  told  him,  "  if  you  will  give  up 
the  surplus  subscribers  of  the  Siecle,  I  will  give 
you  those  of  the  Presse,  and  the  bargain  is  con- 
cluded." Girardin  added  that  he  had  done  a  little 
"  transportation,"  and  pushed  Havin  into  the  cir- 
cumscription of  a  candidate  of  the  Carnot  Commit- 
tee, a  twofold  stroke,  for  Havin  was  also  a  Car- 
not Committee  candidate,  and  Girardin  laughed 
heartily. 

"  Every  time  there  is  a  serious  resolution  and 
responsibilities  to  take,  Picard  is  ill,"  pretended 
Girardin. 

"  What  do  you  think,"  he  added,  "  of  those  ab- 
stentionists  who  refuse  to  take  the  oath  and  have 
the  presumption  to  choose  those  who  can  or  ought 
to  take  it,  according  to  them?  It  is  contemptuous 
for  the  candidates !  " 

Although  Girardin  was  wise  enough  not  to  fill 

Madame  d'Agoult  with  enthusiasm,  and  make  me 

furious,  he  praised  that  political  judgment,  "  really 

of  the  first  magnitude,"  possessed  by  Ollivier. 

"  His  words  are  sculptural,  worthy  of  the  ancient 

[490] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

tablets,"  he  told  me.  "  Do  you  think  the  present 
situation  can  be  better  summed  up  than  in  these 
words :  '  We  do  not  ask  the  country,  after  having 
borne  everything,  to  bear  no  more.  Neither  sys- 
tematic approbation  nor  continuous  opposition,  but 
justice,  independence  to  be  worthy  of  liberty,  won- 
derful ! '  " 

"  That  is  covering  his  dinner  with  cinders  to 
keep  it  warm." 

"  You  demon !  "  said  Girardin. 

He  spoke  to  us  of  Gambetta,  of  one  of  the  juniors 
who  had  taken  part  in  all  the  committee  discus- 
sions in  a  manner  both  lavish  and  judicious.  "  He 
is  conducting  at  this  moment,"  added  Girardin, 
"  in  the  sixth  arrondissement,  a  wild  campaign  in 
favour  of  Paradol,  who  is  nothing  more  than  a 
simple  Liberal ;  nevertheless,  Gambetta  considers 
himself  a  Republican,  but  a  modern  one,  with  other 
ideas  than  those  of  the  '  imbeciles  '  of  1848." 

"  You  cannot  imagine  the  vitality  of  this  fellow," 
he  continued.  "  Were  he  better  groomed,  I  would 
introduce  him  to  you,  but  it  is  impossible.  How- 
ever, he  is  a  scholar;  his  campaign  in  favour  of 
Paradol  proves  that.  He  belongs  rather  to  the  Olli- 
vier  clan — with  Floquet  and  Ferry.  He  often  goes 
to  the  house  of  Garnier-Pages,  and  frequents  the 
young  battalion  recruited  by  Dreo  to  surround  his 
32  [  491  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


father-in-law.  A  propos,  poor  Garnier-Pages  went 
on  the  sly  to  deliver  a  hundred  lectures  in  the  coun- 
try ;  he  thought  to  hold  France,  and  thus  force 
himself  upon  Paris.     It  will  make  us  laugh." 

Madame  d'Agoult  told  Monsieur  de  Girardin 
that  Jules  Ferry  had  been  to  beg  her  to  help  him 
on  to  the  Presse,  and  that  she  had  refused. 

"  I  consider  it  extraordinary  of  Ollivier  to  have 
sent  Ferry  to  me,  that  I  should  befriend  him  with 
you,"  she  added.  "  He  needs  a  '  junior  '  to  himself 
on  every  newspaper,  and  he  intended  Ferry  to  play 
the  same  part  on  yours  as  Floquet  does  on  the 
Temps.  That  you  take  Ferry  is  your  own  affair, 
but  I  will  not  recommend  him.  I  will  not  help  any 
one  who  only  desires  to  oust  my  old  friends.  Mon- 
sieur Ferry  is  one  of  those  people  who  are  most 
willing  to  jeer  at  the  '  high  morality  '  of  the  men 
of  1848." 

"  Darimon  wrote  to  me  the  most  impassioned 
letter  imaginable  on  the  subject  of  Ferry,"  replied 
Girardin.  "  Ollivier  did  not  dare  to  recommend 
him  directly,  for  he  knows  I  dislike  intrusion.  Be- 
sides, Ferry  is  too  aggressive;  he  has  a  way  of 
swaggering  I  greatly  dislike.  The  amusing  part 
is  that  to  Darimon's  letter,  which  demanded  an 
answer,  was  subjoined  a  very,  very  mild  article  by 
Ferry." 

[492] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 


I  had  seen  Pelletan  for  the  last  five  minutes.  His 
eyes  beneath  his  bushy  eyebrows  glowed  with  a 
fire  which  became  more  threatening  as  his  hope  of 
victory  became  more  certain.  The  way  in  which 
he  said,  "  I  shall  triumph,"  was  enough.  I  could 
see  him  in  the  Chamber.  He  would  terrify  the 
majority  with  his  tragic  air.  To  think  he  was  such 
a  good,  devoted  friend,  with  his  look  of  a  car- 
bonaro!  Pelletan's  was  not  a  nature  to  be  touched 
by  bitterness  and  envy,  in  spite  of  the  struggles  of 
a  trying  family  life — he  had  four  children.  But 
his  hatred  of  tyranny,  his  passionate  love  for  the 
people,  turned  him  into  a  fanatic,  capable  of  being 
irritated  by  the  slightest  trifle. 

Jean  Reynaud  was  set  upon  Pelletan's  success, 
and,  I  believe,  helped  in  some  details  as  to  cer- 
tain charges  which  would  have  fallen  heavily  upon 
Pelletan,  already  drained  by  his  fine,  to  pay  which 
he  had  been  obliged  to  sell  his  library. 

The  excitement  reached  its  height  on  the  evening 
of  May  31st,  from  the  Bastille  to  the  Madeleine. 
As  soon  as  the  first  results,  which  gave  a  crushing 
majority  to  Ollivier,  Jules  Favre,  Picard,  and  Dari- 
mon,  were  known,  the  outbursts  of  joy  were  uproari- 
ous; for  besides  the  partisans  of  the  four,  Henon 
was  elected  at  Lyons — even  the  enemies  of  the  Em- 
pire were  pleased.     Monsieur  Thiers  had  only  a 

[493  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


very  feeble  majority,  which,  according  to  the  "  little 
Olliviers,"  was  a  proof  that  he  would  never  have 
been  appointed  in  Paris  without  their  help.  It 
caused  some  suprise  that  Gueroult  was  in  the  bal- 
loting, but  he  would  carry  matters  with  a  high 
hand.  The  success  obtained  by  Havin  and  Jules 
Simon  caused  no  excitement.  Pelletan  was 
"  named  "  at  the  third  round,  but  was  not  pro- 
claimed elected  owing  to  an  administrative  error. 
Next  December,  however,  he  would  certainly  find 
his  electors  faithful,  and  at  last  be  admitted  into  the 
Legislative  body.  Prevost-Paradol  was  beaten  for 
the  second  time,  and  only  found  consolation  in 
hurling  invectives  against  universal  suffrage.  His 
legislative  failure  affected  his  success  as  an  author. 

After  the  election  I  lunched  at  Jean  Reynaud's 
with  Henri  Martin  and  Carnot.  They  were  dis- 
tressed at  the  failure  of  their  committee,  and  I  was 
greatly  mistaken  if  the  indignation  shown  by  Car^ 
not  against  Jules  Simon  was  not  as  great  as  it  had 
been  a  fortnight  before.  Could  it  be  that  at  future 
elections  we  should  see  Carnot  taking  the  oath? 

I  heard  through  de  Ronchaud  that  Girardin, 
who  was  accused  of  being  the  prime  mover  in  the 
whole  electoral  campaign,  had  been  called  by  Count 
Treilhard  a  hireling  of  the  press  of  the  interior, 
and  that  he  had  been  the  victim  of  violent  re- 

[494] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

proaches.  He  heard  that  the  election  caused  great 
consternation  in  high  places ;  that  of  Monsieur 
Thiers  had  put  the  Empress  quite  beside  herself. 
She  could  do  nothing  but  repeat  "  We  must  have  a 
coup  d'etat!  " 

"  Compensation  rains  in  high  places,"  we  said 
in  fun.  General  Bazaine  occupied  Mexico !  Morny 
and  Jecker  could  desire  nothing  better.  Baron  de 
Heckeren,  happening  to  meet  Edmond  Adam,  re- 
marked to  him: 

"  With  the  tongue  of  Thiers,  the  Emperor  will 
not  hold  out  five  years !  " 

As  soon  as  he  had  obtained  his  seat  in  the  Cham- 
bers, Monsieur  Thiers  set  about  forming  his  group, 
if  not  of  partisans,  at  any  rate  of  respectful  lis- 
teners to  his  conversation  with  Messieurs  Buffet, 
Lambrecht,  Plichon,  and  Brame. 

The  circulars  of  Monsieur  de  Persigny  departed 
with  him  and  disappeared  like  autumn  leaves.  Olli- 
vier  declared  to  all  those  who  cared  to  listen  that  a 
breeze  of  liberty  was  blowing  from  on  high. 
Finally,  Madame  d'Agoult  wrote  to  me  that  Girar- 
din  was  coming  from  Compiegne;  that  he  had 
spoken  to  the  Emperor,  and  had  found  him  prac- 
tically resolved  to  withdraw  the  crumbs  of  liberty 
he  had  given. 

[495] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


It  was  at  the  hour  of  amendment  that  one  saw 
to  what  point  the  opposition  was  divided.  At  first 
Monsieur  Thiers  did  not  wish  to  sign  any  of  those 
presented  by  the  Left  side,  and  had  a  discussion 
with  Ollivier  on  this  subject,  of  which  violent  terms 
are  recorded.  Then,  as  soon  as  the  disunion  was 
complete,  each  was  anxious  to  make  his  own  personal 
amendment.  Monsieur  Rouher  was  charged  by  the 
Emperor  to  make  a  report  as  to  the  project  of  a 
new  Universal  Exhibition  in  France,  another  of 
those  shows  which  would  procure  us  visits  of  kings 
and  princes,  no  doubt;  another  fair  which  would 
attract  the  dregs  of  the  whole  world  and  increase 
our  lowest  classes. 

The  author  of  my  being  discoursed  at  table,  while 
eating  his  bread,  upon  the  liberty  ...  of  the 
bakery  just  granted  to  us.  But  the  event  my 
father  considered  the  greatest  of  this  last  half  cen- 
tury, on  account  of  the  blows  it  would  deal  to  the 
so-called  "  free-thinkers,"  was  the  appearance  of 
La  Vie  de  Jesus,  by  Renan. 

My  father  sent  for  the  book,  and  simply  de- 
voured it.  His  joy  was  exuberant.  Yes,  that  in- 
deed was  the  proper  way  in  which  to  regard  the 
personality  of  Jesus  in  order  to  harmonize  it 
better  and  make  it  less  divine. 

I  received  twenty  letters,  each  more  impassioned 

[496] 


I    BUILD    A    HOUSE    BY    THE    SEA 

than  the  last ;  some  for,  some  against  Renan.  Jean 
Reynaud  was  quite  grieved  to  see  such  books  feed- 
ing the  spirit  of  negation  and  serving  as  a  grace- 
ful standard  for  the  sceptics.  Madame  de  Pierre- 
clos  thought  the  work  abominable  and  dangerous  on 
account  of  the  charm  and  perfection  of  the  style. 
In  her  opinion  "  Renan  is  still  the  priest  who  has 
undertaken,  by  means  of  contradictory  preachings, 
to  defend  the  works  of  the  devil." 

Ronchaud  wrote :  "  The  book  is  a  beautiful 
poem.  And  what  a  beautiful  figure  it  has  made  of 
Jesus  of  Nazareth !  Even  those  who  do  not  believe 
in  His  divinity  must  admire  him  henceforth." 

"  Renan,"  said  my  father,  "  was  once  like  my- 
self— a  simple,  pious,  and  sincere  student — but 
when  he  saw  those  whose  duty  it  is  to  guard  holy 
writings,  alter  and  spoil  them  instead,  then  he  lost 
his  faith,  just  as  I  lost  mine." 

When  he  heard  that  Renan  had  been  deprived 
of  his  Hebrew  professorship,  he  exclaimed :  "  Do 
you  see?  Imperialism  shows  us  a  friend  by  treat- 
ing him  as  an  enemy !  " 


[497] 


CHAPTER    XIX 


I  TELL   OF   MANY   THINGS,   AND   FOUND   MY   SALON 


HELLETAN  wrote  to  me :  "  Jean  Reynaud 
is  very  ill." 

I  hastened  to  Paris  and  hurried  to  the  Villa  of 
the  Boulevard  Maillot  in  such  anxiety  that  I  dared 
not  enter  and  ask  for  Madame  Jean  Reynaud. 

I  went  in  at  last  and  found  her  calm,  but  as  one 
controlling  emotion. 

"  Who  wrote  to  you?  "  she  asked  before  I  could 
speak. 

"  Eugene  Pelletan." 

"What  did  he  tell  you?" 

"  That  Jean  Reynaud  was  suffering." 

"  He  should  have  said,  *  Very  ill.'  It  is  I  who 
saw  Pelletan  the  day  before  yesterday;  this  morn- 
ing they  decided  to  perform  the  operation  to-mor- 
row." 

"  What  operation  ?  " 

"  For  stone." 

I  felt  reassured;  my  father  suffered  from  the 
disease  too.  He  should  have  been  operated  on  sev- 
eral times,  and  intended  to  be  some  day.    But  he  did 

[498] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


not  worry  about  it  in  the  least.  I  told  Madame 
Reynaud  this,  and  my  faith  seemed  to  reassure  her. 

I  wanted  to  see  him,  but  dared  not  ask.  She, 
however,  guessed  my  thought,  and  answered  it. 
"  Yes,  come  for  a  moment.  Look  just  as  you  do 
now.  He  will  be  surprised  to  see  you  at  first,  but 
say  you  have  come  to  Paris  about  your  book." 

I  entered  the  room  of  my  "  Cannes  papa."  He 
spoke  of  Bruyeres,  adding:  "  I  feel  that  your  life 
will  improve  with  your  own  people  at  Bruyeres, 
and  in  Paris,  my  child.  Enjoy  the  blessings 
that  God  bestows  upon  you.  You  have  bought 
them  dearly.  Good-bye.  As  soon  as  I  am  well 
again  I  shall  take  up  my  abode  at  the  Golfe  at 
Eden,  in  order  to  superintend  the  building  of  my 
house." 

I  asked  Madame  Jean  Reynaud  the  name  of  the 
doctor  who  was  to  perform  the  operation,  and  went 
straight  to  my  friend  Cabarrus  and  told  him. 

"  Pah !  "  said  he.  "  I  should  have  preferred 
some  one  else." 

Then  the  prediction  of  the  wizard  of  Napoule 
came  back  to  me :  "  Beware  of  doctors."  Suppos- 
ing I  went  and  begged  Madame  Jean  Reynaud  to 
choose  a  better  surgeon  and  remind  her  husband  of 
the  prophecy?  The  one  made  for  me  had  been  so 
fearfully  realized !    But,  alas  !  I  dared  not.     What 

[499] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


right  had  I  to  interfere?  I  was  now  in  a  terrible 
state  about  the  operation,  and  proceeded  to  tell 
Madame  d'Agoult  my  anxiety  and  ask  her  advice. 

She  told  me  I  could  not  possibly  take  such  a 
responsibility;  that  if  Madame  Jean  Reynaud  lis- 
tened to  me  and  her  husband  died,  she  would  cer- 
tainly be  more  upset  than  ever;  and  if  she  did  not 
listen  to  me  and  yet  the  misfortune  happened,  she 
would  think  herself  to  blame. 

June  that  year  was  fearfully  hot,  but  every 
morning  and  evening  I  went  to  get  news  of  Jean 
Reynaud.  The  operation  had  been  postponed  for 
two  days  on  account  of  a  storm  which  had  greatly 
tried  the  patient.  Upon  arriving  one  morning  the 
nurse  advised  me  to  wait  for  an  hour.  They  were 
operating,  and  so  I  should  hear  the  result.  I  went 
to  the  Jardin  d' Acclimation  and  back  again. 

The  valet  said  to  me :  "  I  have  a  sort  of  idea 
that  it  has  not  been  successful.  The  doctors  do 
not  seem  pleased." 

I  returned  home  sadly,  and  wept.  "  Beware  of 
doctors !  beware  of  doctors !  " 

Jean  Reynaud  was  worse.  I  knew  not  what  was 
happening  the  next  few  days.  Only  once  did  I 
see  Madame  Jean  Reynaud.  She  kissed  me,  and  I 
broke  into  sobs :  "  My  father,  my  Cannes  father !  " 

"  It  is  all  over  with  him." 

[500] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


"  No,  no,  that  cannot  be !  " 

I  remained  there,  completely  overwhelmed.  Ma- 
dame Jean  Rcynaud  left  me.  My  tears  flowed.  I 
did  not  know  where  I  was.  I  repeated,  dully :  "  It 
must  not  be !  it  must  not  be !  "  Never  had  I  suf- 
fered so  much.  Yes,  though  .  .  .  when  my  grand- 
mother died.  Then  I  repeated  to  myself,  "  When 
my  grandmother  died." 

They  were  coming  and  going  in  the  house,  but 
I  stayed  there  still,  weeping.  Madame  Jean  Rey- 
naud  passed.     I  seized  hold  of  her. 

"  Tell  me  he  will  not  die !  " 

She  folded  me  in  her  arms,  and  murmured  so  low 
I  could  scarcely  catch  the  words :  "  He  is  dead." 
She  was  brave  enough  to  add :  "  Go  home,  child ; 
you  cannot  pray.   .   .   ." 

I  found  myself  in  the  street.  Jean  Reynaud 
dead !  Bruyeres  down  by  the  sea  was  no  longer  blue. 
It  was  black.  I  walked  on,  not  knowing  where  I 
was  or  whither  I  was  going.  I  had  lost  one  of  my 
adored  fathers.  I  reached  home  and  wrote  to 
Arles-Dufour  and  to  my  father,  that  they  should 
come  to  the  funeral.  I  felt  I  must  see  them 
there  when  the  dead  body  was  placed  in  the  ground, 
or  I  should  feel  myself  absolutely  deserted. 

The  kindness  of  my  friends  on  this  occasion  was 
so  great  that  my  grief  was,  as  it  were,  lulled.    Pel- 

[501] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


letan,  Henri  Martin,  Lcgouvc,  Charton,  and  Jour- 
dan  came  and  mourned  with  me  the  incomparable 
friend  they  had  lost,  whom  they  had  loved  even  be- 
fore I  knew  him. 

Madame  d'Agoult,  de  Ronchaud,  and  Madame 
de  Pierreclos,  Toussenel,  Hetzel,  Bixio,  Edmond 
Adam,  and  the  Vilborts  arranged  among  them- 
selves that  I  should  never  be  alone.  I  would  have 
liked  to  be  with  Madame  Jean  Reynaud,  but  she 
told  me  I  should  do  her  harm,  because  I  had  not 
sufficient  faith  in  the  living  soul  of  my  "  papa." 

"  I  can  see  him  before  my  eyes,"  she  said.  "  He 
speaks  to  me,  advises  me,  and  is  constantly  present. 
Such  kindness,  such  nobility  of  heart,  such  moral 
beauty  must  be  immortal,  and  I  want  to  live  in 
union  with  the  new  form  of  life  of  my  Jean,  just 
as  I  did  with  the  old,  so  that  I  may  continue  to 
honour  him  and  make  others  do  so." 

My  father  and  Arles-Dufour  now  arrived.  Their 
tenderness  alleviated  my  pain,  but  the  thought  that 
one  day  they  too  must  leave  me  thus  suddenly  only 
increased  my  grief. 

After  the  burial  of  Jean  Reynaud,  my  father 
took  me  to  Chauny,  and  I  promised  my  friend 
Arles-Dufour  to  spend  the  latter  part  of  Septem- 
ber at  Oullins,  for  in  October  I  intended  to  return 
to  Bruyeres  with  my  daughter,  finish  everything, 

[502] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


send  for  my  father,  and  settle  our  future  life. 
Bruyeres  must  please  him.  Now  I  no  longer  had 
Jean  Reynaud,  what  should  I  do,  alone  with  Alice 
in  that  little  isolated  villa,  far  from  my  friends  at 
Cannes,  not  one  of  whom  could  replace  the  one  so 
suddenly  taken  from  me? 

I  rewrote  the  dedication  of  my  Voyage  autour 
du  Grand  Pin.  It  was  formerly  gay  and  sunny; 
now  it  was  gloomy  and  sad.  I  had  written  this 
book,  chapter  by  chapter,  at  Jean  Reynaud's  side, 
and  he  had  been  as  much  amused  at  seeing  me  write 
it  as  in  seeing  me  building  my  Bruyeres. 

It  rained  and  rained  at  Chauny.  When  should 
we  escape  this  gloomy  dampness  which  added  to 
our  grief?  Alice  and  I  spent  forty-eight  hours 
in  Paris,  set  out  for  Oullins,  and  from  thence  to 
Bruyeres. 

At  last !  here  we  were  at  our  Bruyeres.  Andre, 
the  gardener,  had  worked  wonders ;  the  two  little 
Brigasques  had  understood  my  wishes,  and  all  the 
furniture  was  properly  arranged.  The  roses  had 
been  so  well  watered  that  the}'  already  reached  a 
height  of  three  metres.  Garlands  of  passion-flow- 
ers hung  from  the  balcony.  It  was  a  perfect 
miracle. 

On  the  way  I  saw  Madame  de  Pierreclos  at 
Macon,  and  she  said  to  me :  "  Let  me  know  as  soon 

[503] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


as  there  is  a  mattress  on  the  floor  for  me.  I  will 
feed  on  the  '  polenta '  of  your  little  Piedmontese, 
I  will  put  things  in  order,  plant  flowers.  I  wish 
to  be  one  of  the  founders  of  Bruyeres." 

On  my  arrival  I  wrote  at  once  to  Madame  de 
Pierreclos :  "  Come."  She  was  almost  speechless 
with  delight  and  with  having  nothing  to  do; 
charmed,  too,  to  see  Bruyeres  made  out  of  nothing, 
and  so  pretty  withal. 

The  terrace  in  front  of  the  house  was  ideal.  Our 
little  Brigasques  had  covered  it  with  fine  gravel, 
in  which  my  daughter,  on  all  fours,  found  the 
prettiest  little  shells  in  the  world.  One  morning 
I  saw  from  my  window  Madame  de  Pierreclos 
gesticulating  violently,  and  declaring  that  as  there 
was  nothing  else  to  do  she  would  search  for  shells 
too.  And  so  she  did,  stretched  full  length  upon 
the  ground. 

Alice  and  I  were  overcome  with  laughter.  Just 
as  she  was  about  to  get  up  she  cried :  "Rambuteau ! 
Rambuteau !  "  and  the  whole  household  turned  out 
to  help  this  large  person  to  her  feet. 

She  would  cheer  even  the  Radeau  de  la  Meduse. 
Ah !  if  only  Jean  Reynaud  had  known  her,  how  she 
would  have  amused  him,  true  Gaul  as  he  was. 

Doctor  Maure  was  quite  proud  to  bring  us  a 
letter   from   Thiers   regarding  the  nomination   of 

[504] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


Rouher  as  Minister  of  State,  charged  with  main- 
taining the  free  exchange  policy  of  the  Imperial 
Government  in  the  Legislative  body-  Monsieur 
Thiers  declared  to  his  old  friend  that  he  would 
come  down  upon  him  as  soon  as  the  session  was 
opened,  and  sustain  the  true  and  only  industrial, 
commercial,  and  agricultural  policy,  namely,  the 
protectionist  policy. 

"  Monsieur  Thiers  is  mistaken,"  said  Madame  de 
Pierreclos,  "  as  he  always  is  when  progress  is  in 
question.  Round  about  Lyons  all  the  great  manu- 
facturers I  know  are  certain  to  draw  great  ad- 
vantages from  the  new  treaties  on  commerce.  I 
am  truly  distressed,  Doctor,  for  the  first  time  since 
we  have  known  each  other,  not  to  be  able  to  hold 
the  same  opinion  as  you." 

Several  of  our  friends  wrote  joint  letters  to  Ma- 
dame de  Pierreclos  and  me.  Ronchaud,  first,  about 
Jean  Baudry,  by  Vacquerie,  and  his  success. 

"  At  last,"  said  Madame  de  Pierreclos,  "  I  am 
consoled  for  the  Funerailles  de  l'Honneur,  in  which 
I  suffered  truly." 

Alas !  Ronchaud's  letter  made  us  feel  very  sad 
about  Berlioz,  on  account  of  the  failure  of  his 
Troy  ens. 

"  All  the  friends  of  Berlioz  knew,"  he  wrote, 
"  that  the  Troyens  was  much  too  long.     The  per- 

[505] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


formance  lasted  eight  hours.  It  was  necessary  to 
shorten  it,  and  Berlioz  had  agreed  to  this.  But 
every  day  since  the  first  performance  at  the  Lyric, 
Carvalho  removes  '  all  that  the  public  does  not 
like.'  Well,  except  a  few  unprejudiced  musicians 
and  ourselves,  the  friends  of  Berlioz,  who  are  ever 
on  the  increase,  there  is  no  public  that  does  like  the 
Troyens.  The  performers  are  so  bad  that  the  per- 
formance drags,  and  we  are  unanimous  in  thinking 
it  will  not  run  three  weeks.  I  am  as  grieved,"  add- 
ed Ronchaud,  "  as  if  a  personal  misfortune  were  in 
question.  I  write  with  my  eyes  full  of  tears.  To 
see  Berlioz  thus  tortured  makes  me  miserable,  and 
you  two,  who  love  our  poor  '  Lucifer,'  will  both 
understand  me." 

"  My  dear  pagan,"  Ronchaud  continued,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  me;  "  let  us  rejoice,  after  hav- 
ing mourned.  Such  is  life !  A  treaty,  I  may 
inform  you,  if  perchance  this  has  escaped  you  in 
your  Thebai'de,  has  just  been  concluded  in  Lon- 
don, by  which  England  abandons  her  protectorate 
over  the  Ionian  Islands,  which  are  about  to  be 
united  to  Greece.     Long  live  Independence ! 

"  The  first  volume  of  Littre's  Dictionary  has 
appeared.  Now  we  shall  be  able  to  write.  The 
author  wishes  me  to  tell  Madame  Juliette  Lamber 
that  he  cannot  send  her  such  a  pamphlet,  but  that 

[506] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


his  colleague  of  Mon  Village  will  have  the  little 
Littre." 

Madame  de  Pierreclos  and  I  talked  a  whole 
evening  of  Berlioz.  He  had,  for  any  one  who  knew 
and  understood  him,  a  primitive  nature,  both 
gentle  and  calm.  He  was  a  son  of  Virgil.  His 
passion  and  violence  were  the  fruit  of  an  ultra- 
romantic  education,  which  he  gave  himself.  He 
sought  his  inspiration  in  Shakespeare,  in  Goethe's 
Faust,  in  Beethoven,  who  exceeds  all  human  limit, 
in  Dante's  Inferno,  in  the  torments  of  Eurydice 
and  Alcestes.  As  an  artist  he  was  an  "  impossible- 
ist " ;  he  strove  to  seize  that  which  cannot  be 
grasped,  and  this  constituted  his  grandeur !  When 
nature  is  let  loose  in  all  her  monstrosity  he  wished 
the  despairing  voice  of  man  to  be  heard  in  the  midst 
of  all  the  chaos.  In  love  and  art  he  ever  wanted 
new  themes,  and  sought  them  with  frenzy,  breaking 
those  chords  which  refused  to  sing  the  demoniac. 

Madame  de  Pierreclos  and  I  told  each  other  con- 
tinually that  Berlioz  was  the  most  extraordinary 
genius  among  all  those  we  knew  and  loved,  but  at 
the  same  time  the  most  unfortunate.  He  had 
known  nothing  of  life  but  tears ;  first,  misery, 
strife,  and  humiliations ;  for  he  was  poor,  very 
poor.  He  was  unable  to  finish  his  musical  educa- 
tion, and  if,  by  force  of  genius,  he  succeeded  in 
33  [  507  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


creating  for  himself  certain  personal  proceedings 
in  his  composition  which  added  to  his  originality, 
those  who  disputed  this  found  in  the  naivete  of 
certain  technical  notions  an  argument  to  use 
against  him. 

And  what  enemies  he  had!  It  was  considered 
good  form  to  chaff  him,  to  ridicule  his  gloomy  per- 
sonality, his  tragic  eye,  his  scornful  lip,  his  proud 
and  yet  unhappy  physiognomy.  Yes,  "  unhap- 
py," we  told  each  other.  What  he  must  have  suf- 
fered at  that  time !  We  seemed  to  see  him  in  re- 
volt against  human  imbecility — cursing  it!  He 
who  had  such  a  passion  for  the  beautiful,  yielding 
to  this  passion  to  the  point  of  seeming  mad  with 
it.  How  could  he  understand  that  he  himself  was 
not  understood? 

If  he  had  been  denied  by  every  one  he  might  lose 
faith  in  himself,  but  there  were  some  fanatics 
among  those  whose  word  was  law  in  the  musical 
world;  so  his  pride  was  simply  exasperated.  He 
became  bitter  against  the  mediocre,  and  provoked 
mortal  hatreds  by  his  pamphlets  in  the  Debats  and 
by  his  cruel  words. 

Ought  we  to  write  to  him?  We  asked  ourselves 
the  question,  but  finally  decided  that  as  we  could 
not  congratulate  him  on  a  success,  we  had  better 
keep  silence.     We  decided,  however,  to  send  him  a 

[  508  ] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


basket  of  flowers  with  these  simple  words :  "  Ma- 
dame de  Pierreclos  and  Madame  Juliette  Lamber 
send  some  flowers  from  the  Golfe  Juan  to  Berlioz." 
He  replied  without  thanks  in  a  single  line : 

"  Was  it  worth  while? 

"  Berlioz." 

Pelletan  was  re-elected.  It  was  merely  a  matter 
of  form,  but  all  the  same  Madame  de  Pierreclos  and 
I,  who  loved  him,  rejoiced.     Girardin  wrote  to  us: 

"  I  was  at  Compiegne  the  1st  of  June  last,  and 
knew  the  results  of  the  elections,  but  spoke  of  them 
to  no  one.  Suddenly,  however,  the  Empress  ad- 
dressed me,  saying: 

"  '  Well,  so  your  friend  Pelletan  is  elected?  '  I 
bowed  in  silence. 

"  *  But  defend  him,  then,'  added  the  Empress. 

"  '  Madame,'  I  replied,  '  I  need  not  defend  the 
victor.'  She  did  not  look  over  amiably  to  me,  I 
assure  you." 

Pelletan  was,  for  the  official  world,  an  object  of 
horror — the  Revolution  in  person.  With  his  dark 
eyes,  his  black  beard,  his  thick  eyebrows,  and  his 
baleful  air,  he  inspired  more  fear  than  the  other 
members. 

Pelletan  replied  to  Madame  de  Pierreclos,  who 
had  written  to  him  in  our  name,  and  thanked  us. 

[509] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


He  spoke  of  Monsieur  Thiers  and  his  political  ac- 
tivity. Certainly  he  did  not  approve  any  of  the 
ideas  of  the  "  little  man,"  nor  his  parliamentary 
tactics ;  but  he  admitted  that  with  him  the  opposi- 
tion was  shaping ;  that  all  the  lawyers'  conferences, 
all  the  writers'  articles,  and  all  the  students'  mani- 
festations, would  never  have  given  the  opposition 
the  character  which  Monsieur  Thiers  had  given  it. 

"  Monsieur  Thiers  is  not  an  enemy  of  the  Im- 
perial epopee,"  added  Pelletan;  "  on  the  contrary, 
he  has  cultivated  and  over  educated  it.  If  he  asks 
for  liberties,  it  is  because  they  are  necessary.  We 
know  well  that  he  himself,  who  has  made  laws,  not 
over  tender,  for  the  Press,  would  not  reduce  au- 
thority to  powerlessness,  in  face  of  the  •  madmen,' 
as  the  citizens  like  to  call  the  advanced  writers. 
Monsieur  Thiers  warns  the  Government  that  if  it 
refuses  the  '  old  parties  '  the  necessary  liberties,  the 
country  will  exact  them. 

"  Between  Rouher,  tenacious,  brutal,  and  obsti- 
nate," continued  Pelletan,  "  with  arguments  bor- 
rowed from  the  law  courts,  unscrupulous  as  to  the 
means  of  escaping  the  catastrophe  of  a  proof,  and 
Monsieur  Thiers,  determined,  putting  forward 
nothing  with  certainty,  always  moderate  in  his  ex- 
pressions, the  struggle  is  a  curious  one,  and  I  watch 
it  willingly  from  a  front  seat." 

[510] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


As  Madame  dc  Picrreclos  was  leaving  us  the  fol- 
lowing day,  Doctor  Maure  came  to  bid  her  a  last 
farewell.     We  had  our  handkerchiefs  in  readiness. 

I  thanked  Ncfftzer  for  his  extreme  goodness 
about  my  Grand  Pin,  and  he  replied  in  a  very 
charming  letter.  He  mentioned,  as  a  continua- 
tion of  several  of  our  conversations,  the  occupation 
of  Holstein  by  troops  of  the  German  Confedera- 
tion. "  You  who  must  frequently  see  Merimee," 
he  added,  "  ought  to  warn  him  that  he  will  one  day 
weep  bitter  tears  for  having  allowed  himself  to  be 
subdued  by  Bismarck.  Now  that  we  have  seen 
him  at  work  as  President  of  the  Council  of  Prussia, 
it  is  easy  to  understand  his  success  with  Napoleon 
III.  It  is  the  everlasting  story  of  Eleonora  Gali- 
gai  and  Marie  de  Medicis,  the  influence  of  a  strong 
mind  upon  a  weak  one.  He  knows  what  he  wants, 
and  wants  it  much.  The  wavering  policy  of  the 
Emperor  fits  him  like  a  glove,  and  he  will  retain 
it  while  retaining  the  glove.  What !  this  Bismarck 
has  won  Merimee  over?  And  Merimee  himself  it 
is  who  says  it.  Ah !  did  Merimee  only  know  what 
it  meant. 

"  They  who  surround  Bismarck  were  greatly 
amused  at  the  stories  of  the  small  German  courts, 
and  when  the  relator  of  these  amusing  anecdotes 

[  511  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


added,  '  They  must  be  suppressed,'  the  approba- 
tion was  general.  Ah !  dear  Madame,  when  one  is 
an  Alsatian,  and  follows  the  German  policy,  as  I 
do,  one  fears  things  which  I  cannot  name  without 
being  taken  for  a  madman,  and  which  are  fearful 
as  threats  for  the  future.  Read  this  letter  to  Meri- 
mee.  I  know  he  is  a  patriot.  Perhaps  it  will  cause 
some  precious  uneasiness  in  his  mind. 
"  Believe  me,  dear  Madame,  etc., 

"  Nefftzeb." 

I  wrote  to  Merimee  to  come  and  see  me  and  to 
honour  Bruyeres  with  a  visit.  He  replied :  "  I  had 
hoped  to  be  able  to  thank  you  in  person  for  your 
charming  little  book  "  ( I  had  sent  him  Mon  Voyage 
autour  du  Grand  Pin),  "  but  I  came  here  ill  and 
found  sick  people,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  nurse 
myself  and  others,  too.  I  must  give  up  the  hope 
of  coming  to  the  Golfe  Juan  to  render  my  thanks. 
Permit  me,  therefore,  Madame,  to  congratulate 
you  by  letter.  In  my  quality  of  old  discoverer  of 
Cannes  I  was  delighted  to  see  a  Parisian  lady  do 
justice  to  this  beautiful  country,  and  to  see  that 
she  had  had  the  courage  to  learn  it  thoroughly, 
and  the  hardihood  to  tell  her  fellow-countrymen 
that  there  were  flowers  elsewhere  than  at  Constan- 
tin's,  and  mountains  elsewhere  than  at  the  opera. 

[  512  ] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


I  have  followed  you  in  all  your  excursions,  and  can 

attest  the  exactitude  of  your  descriptions.     They 

are  charming,  like  the  country  which  inspired  them. 

I  only  desire  one  thing,  namely,  that  you  should 

compile  more  like  these,  and  that  our  surroundings 

may  furnish  you  with  material  for  more  than  one 

volume. 

"  Pray  accept,  etc., 

"  P.  Merimee." 

A  few  days  later  Merimee  came  to  see  me.  He 
smiled  at  Nefftzer's  letter. 

I  asked  him  if  he  did  not  wish  to  keep  it  as  a 
document  to  convince  me  at  need,  one  day ;  I,  who 
experienced  vague  fears,  in  the  sense  of  those  of  the 
director  of  the  Temps,  that  we  were  grossly  mis- 
taken. 

"  I  shall  never  have  occasion  to  recall  this  pa- 
per," said  he.  "  Keep  it ;  and  I  authorize  you,  in 
the  impossible  event  of  Nefftzer's  being  right,  to 
produce  it  as  an  act  of  accusation  against  me." 

Merimee  confided  to  me  a  great  anxiety  he  had 
had  since  the  middle  of  November.  A  decree  had 
reorganized  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts  on  a  new 
basis,  and  it  was  now  under  the  direction  of  a 
commission  elected  for  the  purpose  and  chosen  from 
the  Academie  des  Beaux  Arts.  Beule  had  written 
about  the  matter  to  Merimee,  and  was  as  distressed 

[513] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


as  he.  Was  not  this  a  case  of  renouncing  and  deny- 
ing traditions?  Was  it  not  compromising  the 
spirit  and  perhaps  destroying  the  Ecole  de  Rome? 

"  I  greatly  admire  Beule,"  I  said  to  Merimee,  "  as 
a  scholar  and  as  an  author.  Moreover,  for  me,  a 
Greek,  has  he  not  the  unparalleled  glory  of  having 
discovered  the  Porte?  .  .  .  Beule  at  the  Acropolis. 
I  can  understand  what  he  suffers  when  he  sees  art 
parliamentarized,  if  I  can  judge  by  what  I  suf- 
fered when  I  saw  letters  democratized  in  the  Petit 
Journal.  There  are  so  many  things  into  which 
equality  may  be  introduced,  but  not  there." 

Merimee  gave  me  a  recent  letter  of  Beule's  to 
read,  in  which  I  distinctly  remember  the  following 
phrase :  "  It  is  necessary  to  purify  souls  by  the 
presentation  of  what  is  beautiful,  and  not  to  lower 
art  to  the  level  of  universal  suffrage." 

We  went  to  Cannes  to  meet  my  father.  He  had 
returned  at  last,  and  was  lost  in  admiration  of  the 
journey.  How  beautiful  it  all  was — the  sun,  the 
sea,  the  blue  sky,  the  wild  flowers  under  the  olive- 
trees  !  He  talked  and  talked,  one  thing  after  an- 
other, as  if  he  were  teaching  us  all  these  things. 
And  the  colours  of  the  red  granite  rocks,  and  the 
Esterel  Mountains,  and  the  island,  and  this  gulf, 
and  Bruyercs.     He  got  out  of  the  carriage  at  the 

[  514  ] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


entrance.  "  Oh,  what  a  spacious  terrace !  "  He 
wanted  to  walk  on  it,  and  measure  it,  immediately. 
"  What  a  splendid  road !  and  the  well !  Ah,  I 
understand!  And  the  plateau,  the  house!  Is  it 
possible,  my  children,  that  Bruyeres  belongs  to 
you?     It  is  splendid  !  " 

Nothing  but  exclamations  of  delight.  And  the 
pines,  and  their  odour;  the  heath  in  flower;  and 
the  Brigasques — Andre,  Angelique,  Perrinette — 
he  knew  all  their  names  beforehand;  he  knew  all 
about  everything ;  we  had  said  and  written  so  much 
about  it  all ;  but  he  named  everything  as  if  to  take 
possession. 

Alice  capered  and  danced.  "  What  joy,  grand- 
father likes  Bruyeres !  " 

Yes,  grandfather  liked  Bruyeres !  Tired,  he 
went  to  bed  early,  but  at  daybreak  awoke  the  house- 
hold. 

"  What  is  that  we  see  down  there  over  the  sea — 
there  where  Apollo  is  rising?  " 

I  arrived  upon  the  scene.  "  That  is  Corsica, 
papa.  Do  you  think  the  sight  wonderful  enough? 
The  God  of  Day  ascends  his  chariot,  clothed  with 
light;  his  horses,  rays  of  light  entangled  in  their 
manes,  plunge  from  the  mountains  of  this  beautiful 
island  into  a  sky  tinted  by  the  rosy  fingers  of 
Aurora.    You  see  Apollo  as  I  see  him,  is  it  not  so?  r 

[515] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  Yes,  I  see  Greece,"  cried  my  father.  "  To 
think  I  never  understood  Homer  and  what  he  wrote 
until  to-day !  This  very  day  I  will  read  it  again 
with  fresh  light.  You  have  our  old  Homer  here? 
If  not,  I  must  send  to  Cannes,  or  Nice,  or  Corsica, 
and  find  him." 

I  almost  feared  to  see  my  father  so  excited,  par- 
ticularly as  he  refused  to  put  anything  on  his  head, 
for  he  wished  to  be  "  bathed  in  light." 

Doctor  Maure,  invited  to  lunch  to  celebrate  the 
arrival  of  his  colleague,  became  attached  to  my 
father  from  the  first  moment.  My  terrible  father 
was  really  handsome,  good,  and  charming.  Doctor 
Maure  carried  him  away  the  very  same  day,  for  he 
was  off  for  the  day  to  Saint-Cesaire,  and  wished 
to  show  my  father  the  magnificent  view  of  the 
Saigne.  They  were  to  return  by  Grasse,  and  after 
to-morrow  I  was  to  be  allowed  to  take  possession 
of  the  "  author  of  my  days." 

During  my  father's  short  absence  I  received  a 
visit  from  Guillaumet,  who  was  leaving  for  Africa, 
and  spent  the  day  with  us.  I  like  Guillaumet  im- 
mensely. He  was  introduced  to  me  by  old  Mon- 
sieur Sechan.  He  is  at  once  an  enthusiast  of  the 
great  and  beautiful,  and  very  simple  in  little 
things.     One  enjoyed  teasing  him. 

After  breakfast  Guillaumet,  Alice,  and  I  went 

[516] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


down  and  sat  on  the  rocks  of  the  little  Port  "  Lam- 
ber."  We  told  him  that  the  water  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean was  blue  even  in  a  decanter.  He  believed  us, 
and  wanted  to  prove  it.  We  sent  to  Bruyeres  for 
a  decanter.  He  leaned  over  with  his  decanter  filled 
and  examined  it,  while  we  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  owe  you  my  revenge,"  he  said. 

But  presently  he  began  to  talk  art;  no  more 
mockery.     Alice  listened. 

"  I  watch  nature,"  began  Guillaumet.  "  While 
she  is  drawing  her  pictures,  the  sun's  shadow  trails 
long  rays  of  mist,  and  the  olive-trees  are  out- 
lined in  the  distance.  Their  shape  is  no  longer 
visible,  only  the  velvet  grayness  of  the  leaves;  the 
scattered  masses  of  pine-trees  are  grouped  darkly 
together,  while  here  and  there  a  white  country- 
house  cheerfully  pierces  their  sombreness.  The 
earth  has  red  tones,  which  harmonize,  without  jar- 
ring, with  the  shining  russet  green  of  the  orange- 
trees.  Horses  gallop  along  the  road,  raising  a 
cloud  of  dust  which  settles  on  a  flock  of  sheep ;  and 
the  Brigasque  shepherd,  in  his  costume,  passes 
solemnly,  throwing  orders  to  his  dogs  in  sonorous 
tones.  Twenty  pictures  have  been  sketched  under 
my  eyes,"  added  he.  "  Nature  generally  offers 
me  her  models.  It  is  for  me  to  choose,  for  me  to 
decide." 

[517] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  I  want  to  be  a  painter,  and  you  shall  give  me 
lessons,  won't  you,  Monsieur  Guillaumet?  "  asked 
Alice. 

"  Alas !  little  one,  I  am  leaving.  I  am  going 
across  the  water  to  seek  pictures  of  nature  more 
brilliant  even  than  these;  but  I  shall  return,  and 
I  pledge  you  my  word  as  a  painter  that  I  will  teach 
you  to  paint,"  and  Guillaumet  laughed  heartily. 
It  was  his  turn  to  make  fun  of  my  daughter. 

I  heard  from  Edmond  Texier  that  Le  Marquis 
de  Villemer  had  an  enormous  success  at  the  Odeon. 
The  students  acclaimed  George  Sand,  and  shouted : 
"  Liberty !     Liberalism  !     Tolerance !  " 

I  sent  my  Grand  Pin  to  George  Sand,  who  did 
not  answer.  No  doubt  my  book  displeased  her. 
After  the  triumph  to  which  all  the  papers  bear 
witness  I  can  congratulate  her.  Why  did  she  not 
tell  me  what  displeased  her  in  my  book?  It  would 
have  been  charitable  to  give  me  a  lesson  in  letters. 
I  will  tell  her  so. 

George  Sand  was  still  at  Paris,  and  her  answer 
came  quickly : 

"  Dear  Madame  :  Yes,  a  great  success.  I  am 
pleased,  but  not  so  pleased  at  the  manifesta- 
tions accompanying  the  success.  When  youth  gets 
carried  away,  who  knows  where  it  will  stop? 

[  518  ] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


"  I  liked  your  book,  which  I  only  read  yester- 
day, immensely.  It  is  true.  You  have  understood 
that  in  the  South  men  are  more  easily  stirred  than 
elsewhere,  because  the  life  of  things  is  more  intense. 
Observe  well  what  you  see,  my  child ;  note  your 
impressions  of  life  as  one  does  a  sketch,  and  then 
fill  in  your  pictures  with  an  equal  share  of  truth 
and  selection. 

"  Your  distant  friend, 

"  George  Sand." 

It  was  the .  first  time  that  Madame  Sand  had 
made  any  allusion  in  her  letters  to  our  distant 
friendship.  How  greatly  this  troubled  me  cannot  be 
imagined.  I  dared  not  answer,  promising  myself 
that  I  would  speak  to  Ronchaud  on  my  return, 
because,  in  spite  of  my  desire  to  know  George 
Sand,  I  should  never  have  done  so  without  assur- 
ance that  I  should  not  thereby  give  offence  to  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult. 

There  had  been  another  plot  against  the  Em- 
peror. Madame  Fauvety  told  me  that  Napoleon 
III  summoned  Edmond,  Zozo's  wizard,  and  that 
he  predicted  that  he  would  not  be  assassinated,  but 
would  die  in  his  bed.  "  If  the  prophecy  is  realized, 
as  in  the  case  of  Zozo,  the  Emperor  can  sleep  in 
peace.  Why  am  I  not  a  Bonapartist,  that  I  might 
write  to  him?     But  you  who  see  Merimee,  tell  him 

[519] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


the  tale  of  the  illustrious  Zozo,"  added  Madame 
Fauvety. 

I  did  so,  and  heard  through  Merimee  that  he  had 
written  to  the  Empress,  "  very  superstitious,  like 
every  good  Spaniard." 

My  father  emphatically .  declared  that  he  felt 
as  though  he  were  floating  on  the  swelling  tide  of 
new  Homeric  revelations.  In  the  morning  on  his 
balcony,  in  the  afternoon  on  a  rock,  he  read  the 
Iliad  or  ^neid. 

Edmond  Adam,  Edmond  Texier,  and  Hetzel 
had  planned  to  come  together  to  spend  three  or 
four  days  at  Golfe  Juan.  They  would  stay  at  the 
Eden  Hotel,  quite  near  to  us. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  at  Bruyeres.  Alice 
said  she  would  do  the  honours  for  Monsieur  Hetzel. 
My  father  would  receive  Texier,  whose  wit  amused 
him,  and  I  would  entertain  Edmond  Adam,  whom  I 
loved  and  honoured  most  of  all  my  friends. 

Edmond  Texier  added  some  gossip  to  his  letter 
announcing  his  arrival.  According  to  him,  L'Ami 
des  Femmes  of  Dumas  Fils  has  been  an  honourable 
failure,  save  for  Madame  de  Pierreclos,  who  de- 
clared it  to  be  admirable. 

"  Dumas  is  very  ill,"  wrote  Texier.  "  He  has 
been  forbidden  to  work  or  think,  at  risk  of  en- 
dangering his  reason.     He  leaves  for  Le  Puy  with 

[520] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


a  very  great  Russian  lady,  Madame  N.,  who  will 
take  care  of  him  in  expiation  of  what  she  is  ac- 
cused of  at  St.  Petersburg." 

I  answered  Texier  that  he  was  unjust  to  Dumas's 
piece,  as  Madame  Fauvety  also  said  that  she  thought 
it  very  beautiful.  Texier  then  sent  me  a  page 
from  the  preface  of  L'Ami  des  Femmes,  where  I 
read  that  "  woman  is  an  outcast  angel."  Thanks 
for  such  a  friend ! 

Our  three  travellers  were  favoured  with  marvel- 
lous weather.  The  very  day  after  their  arrival 
Edmond  Adam  and  Edmond  Texier  bought  plots 
of  land  close  to  Bruyeres.  Adam  bought  the  first, 
which  he  gallantly  named  the  Grand  Pin;  and 
Texier  bought  the  second,  which  he  would  call 
Brimborion. 

Auguste  Villemot  came  to  Cannes,  enticed  by 
Hetzel.  Doctor  Maure  invited  us  all  to  breakfast 
at  Grasse,  and  we  set  out  for  Cannes  in  a  big 
landau.  We  took  Villemot  with  us.  Hetzel,  as  a 
young  man,  took  the  box  seat,  and  Alice  insisted 
upon  room  being  made  for  her  between  him  and 
the  coachman. 

On  the  way  Adam  told  us  that  he  had  written 
the  night  before  to  his  friend  Armand  Heine  and 
to  Eugene  Forcade,  telling  them  to  buy  the  plots 
of  land  adjoining  Grand  Pin  and  Brimborion. 

[521  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


We  should  form  a  colony.  My  father  was  more 
and  more  enchanted.  He  drank  in  Texier's  words, 
who,  feeling  that  he  had  a  very  new  and  a  very 
enthusiastic  listener,  grew  excited,  and  then  fol- 
lowed a  joust  of  sparkling  wit  between  Hetzel, 
Villemot,  and  myself. 

The  simplicity  of  a  question  put  by  Villemot 
gave  me  the  idea  of  playing  a  trick  on  him.  I 
could  not  then  decide  what  it  should  be. 

How  can  I  describe  the  passages  of  wit  and 
repartee  during  this  excursion,  at  breakfast,  and 
on  the  return  journey?  It  was  a  kind  of  review 
of  everything,  either  serious  or  humorous,  which 
had  happened  since  I  left  Paris. 

At  every  moment  Doctor  Maure  made  a  grimace, 
and  stupefied  our  boulevardiers  by  answers  worthy 
of  any  one  of  them.  And  how  these  Parisians  could 
eat,  taste,  and  enjoy  the  dishes  and  wines! 

"  Long  live  the  colony  of  Golf e  Juan !  "  cried 
the  good  Doctor,  raising  his  glass  as  we  were  rising 
from  table. 

Villemot  had  been  eating  dates  with  great  en- 
joyment. 

"  Are  they  from  the  palm-trees  we  see  here?  ': 
he  asked. 

I  answered  quickly: 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Villemot ;  and  if  you  like 

f  522  ] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


we  will  go  and  get  some  from  a  friend  of  the  Doc- 
tor's, who  lives  quite  near." 

Every  one  guessed  my  intentions.  The  palm- 
tree  was  in  the  garden  of  my  daughter's  little 
friends. 

"  Shall  I  buy  a  pound?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Yes."    The  cunning  little  thing  had  understood. 

We  reached  the  garden.  The  dates  were  artfully 
strewn  on  the  grass  round  the  palm-tree. 

Villemot  fell  upon  them,  and  tasted  one. 

"  They  are  excellent." 

"  Let  us  see." 

We  all  tasted  them. 

"  Excellent,"  all  repeated. 

The  master  of  the  house  gave  Villemot  a  bag; 
he  filled  and  carried  it  away.  He  ate  them  himself 
and  passed  them  to  us,  to  our  delight,  all  during 
the  return  journey. 

"  Don't  forget  to  speak  of  the  good  dates  of 
Grasse  in  your  article  in  the  Temps,"  said  Hetzel. 
"  Say  that  they  are  excellent.  It  will  be  only  the 
truth,  and  you  will  flatter  the  obliging  owner  of 
the  palm-tree." 

Villemot  did  not  miss  a  single  detail  of  his  har- 
vest of  dates  at  Grasse. 

On  my  return  to  Paris,  how  Nefftzer  reproached 
me  with  Villemot's  dates ! 

34  [  523  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Armand  Heine  and  Eugene  Forcade  had 
bought  their  land. 

Next  year  I  should  have  to  superintend  the  build- 
ing of  Grand  Pin  and  Brimborion.  I  should  be 
appointed  to  mark  out  the  gardens.  I  was  hon- 
oured by  so  much  confidence. 

My  father  wrote  to  my  mother  that  she  might 
put  the  house  at  Chauny  up  for  sale.  It  was 
quickly  done.  Our  notary  wanted  it  for  himself. 
Upon  my  return  to  Paris,  while  my  father  disposed 
of  some  cumbersome  furniture,  my  daughter  and  I 
were  to  look  for  a  little  summer  lodging. 

Bruyeres  and  Paris,  what  a  dream  it  would  be ! 
Life  with  my  daughter  and  father,  in  the  midst 
of  dear  friends,  so  worthy  of  affection!  Such  joy 
could  not  last ! 

My  "  papa  of  Cannes  "  if  he  lived  would  say 
again,  and  this  time  with  truth,  "  Dark  days  are 
storing  up  light  for  bright  days." 

I  was  grieved.  Meyerbeer  had  died  almost  sud- 
denly while  finishing  the  score  of  L'Africaine. 
Weill  told  me  that  the  last  time  he  saw  Meyerbeer 
he  said :    "  Velleda  will  soon  see  Selika." 

The  morrow  of  my  return  to  Paris  I  set  about 
finding  lodgings.  For  ourselves  I  should  have  liked 
to  find  one  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  My  daughter 
wanted   one  looking   on  the   Tuileries,   where   she 

[524] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


"  much  enjoyed  "  herself  during  her  short  visits  to 
Paris. 

My  father  timidly  admitted  that  he  would  like 
the  "  Quartier  des  Ecoles."  I  called  him  an  old 
student,  and  said  that  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  had  been 
the  scene  of  all  the  revolutions,  and  that  he  would 
have  a  front  seat  at  the  next. 

We  began  our  search  from  the  corner  of  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde.  One,  two,  three  houses.  In 
the  first  apartments  visited  we  found  our  ideal  rest 
on  the  fourth  floor,  with  a  large  balcony  looking 
on  the  Tuileries.  They  were  to  let.  We  wanted 
them  at  once.  Who  was  the  landlord?  Monsieur 
Soufflot.  I  remembered  hearing  Jean  Reynaud 
mention  him  as  a  friend.  I  looked  upon  this  as  an 
omen.  The  paternal  spirit  of  Jean  Reynaud  had 
guided  me  here.  We  hurried  (Alice  and  I)  to 
Madame  Jean  Reynaud,  who  gave  us  a  letter  for 
old  Monsieur  Soufflot. 

How  charming  he  was — my  landlord !  Every- 
thing I  asked  he  granted.  The  rooms  were  to  be 
cleaned,  repainted,  and  the  rent  reduced.  The 
lease  was  sent  to  my  father,  and  signed  three  days 
later. 

Some  furniture  being  sent  from  Chauny,  Alice 
and  I  took  up  our  quarters  among  the  workmen. 
Things   progressed   so   favourably   that   a   month 

[525] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


later  my  delighted  father  and  mother  joined  us, 
and  could  feast  their  eyes  upon  the  beautiful  view 
afforded  by  our  apartments  by  day,  and  on  the 
magical  illuminations  at  night.  In  a  word,  we 
were  Parisians,  and  extended  our  house-warming 
over  eight  days. 

What  excitement  there  was  the  day  of  our  house- 
warming  dinner-party !  My  mother  drove  us  mad 
(Alice  and  me),  declaring  that  the  guests  would 
be  famished,  because  there  were  only  five  courses. 

Our  apartments  were  rather  high,  but  the  wide 
stone  staircase  was  easy,  and  it  was  so  cool  there 
in  summer.  It  was  tastefully  arranged,  and  pleased 
all  who  saw  it.  My  friends  spoiled  me,  each  one 
sending  some  pretty  souvenir.  At  last  our  guests 
arrived,  greatly  honouring  our  dovecot. 

Edmond  Adam,  Edmond  Texier,  Toussenel, 
Pe}rrat,  NefFtzer,  Challemel,  Ronchaud.  Madame 
d'Agoult  as  yet  visited  no  one.  Madame  de  Pierre- 
clos  was  at  Macon. 

The  dining-room  being  too  small,  dinner  was 
served  in  the  drawing-room. 

Emile  Ollivier  was  the  first  and  principal  subject 
of  conversation  at  table.  NefFtzer  was  attacked. 
It  was  he  who  had  "  invented  "  and  supported  him 
in   185T.      Challemel-Lacour  quoted   a   saying  of 

[526] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


that  time:  "The  election  of  Ollivier  in  1857  was 
due  to  a  party  intrigue  of  which  Nefftzer  was  the 
moving  spirit." 

"  The  moving  ass,  you  mean,"  replied  Nefftzer. 

We  laughed  and  spared  him,  but  Challemel  and 
Peyrat  were  relentless,  and  returned  more  fiercely 
to  Ollivier.  Edniond  Texier,  in  a  few  brief  words, 
marked  out  the  chief  points  of  their  attack. 

The  recorder  of  the  law  of  coalitions  was  appre- 
ciated, as  he  deserved,  by  true  Republicans.  This 
policy  had  no  longer  any  secrets  from  Peyrat.  To 
Ollivier's  formula  against  "  systematic  opposi- 
tion," Challemel  substituted  that  of  "  systematic 
conversion."  The  judgment  given  by  Monsieur 
Thiers  was  recalled:  "Ollivier  has  not  only  burned 
his  boats,  but  all  his  fleet."  Disowned  and  excom- 
municated, his  infatuation  remained  unchangeable ; 
he  never  ceased  to  believe  that  alone  he  could  group 
together  the  elements  of  a  Liberal  Imperialist 
party. 

A  sally  of  Hetzel's  caused  great  amusement. 

"  Emile  Ollivier's  policy,"  he  said,  "  will  carry 
him  straight  to  the  Academy." 

This  was  greeted  with  cries  of  protestation. 

"  But  undoubtedly,"  continued  the  imperturba- 
ble Hetzel,  "  just  as  Dufaure's  policy  led  him 
there." 

[527] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  It  isn't  the  same  thing.  It's  just  the  opposite," 
said  Peyrat. 

"  It  is  just  because  it  is  the  contrary  that  it 
amounts  to  the  same,"  replied  Hetzel.  "  The  day 
that  the  Academy  at  a  certain  moment,  for  a  cer- 
tain motive,  has  a  certain  political  election  to  make, 
it  will  unfailingly  elect  Ollivier." 

We  shrugged  our  shoulders. 

"  Ollivier,"  said  Edmond  Adam,  "  is  a  strong 
man.  He  has  a  power  which  will  never  fail — his 
vanity.  He  will  draw  upon  it  for  all  the  energies 
he  requires.  He  is  the  first  among  us  who  has 
profited  by  the  compromises  of  his  conscience,  and 
history  will  lay  the  chief  guilt  at  his  door.  Our 
faltering  is  the  outcome  of  his  compromise,  and 
from  it  will  proceed  our  future  facilities.  There 
are  no  half  measures  in  honour  or  in  word.  Olli- 
vier bequeaths  dangerous  opportunities  to  the  Re- 
publicans. Conservatism  alone  could  continue  to 
solidify  the  Empire  until  of  itself  it  became  ex- 
hausted. Liberalism  will  weaken  it,  and  I  fear 
that  such  a  jumble  of  false  political  doctrines  may 
some  day  give  birth  to  a  false  republic." 

"  Bah !  "  said  Peyrat.  "  Let  the  Republic  first 
come;  then  we  shall  see." 

"  They  will  Jacobinize  it,  eh,  Peyrat  ?  All  the 
French  will  be  compelled  to  believe  the  same  as 

[528] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


Peyrat  and  Challemel,"  added  Nefftzer.  "  That  is, 
if  Challemel  and  Peyrat  will  consent,  for  the  public 
good,  to  think  for  once  alike.  If  not — ah,  well, 
the  Republic  will  be  purified  according  to  the  views 
of  one  or  the  other.  I,  as  you  know,  am  more  in- 
clined to  a  Liberal  Empire  than  to  Jacobinism,  and 
if  Ollivier  inspired  me  with  confidence  I  should  be 
well  satisfied  with  a  Liberal  Empire,  for  as  long 
as  French  Governments  last." 

"  Though  I  thought  a  Liberal  Empire  possi- 
ble," threw  in  Challemel,  "  I  would  not  lend  assist- 
ance at  any  price.  It  is  nothing  less  than  treachery 
to  give  help  to  the  enemy,  to  galvanize  them  and 
render  victory  possible  to  them." 

"  Think,  Nefftzer,"  cried  Toussenel,  "  of  what 
Ollivier  might  have  said,  it  is  surely  monstrous; 
and  having  been  a  Republican,  is  it  not  apostasy 
to  dare  to  assert  that  *  a  constitutional  and  Liberal 
Empire  will  become  the  Government  of  France  '  ?  " 

"  All  questions  of  internal  policy  are  small  com- 
pared with  the  external  events  which  are  hatching 
to  threaten  the  future  of  France,"  replied  Nefftzer, 
with  real  sadness. 

"  The  illustrious  Jeremiah  come  to  life,"  cried 
Peyrat.  "  Listen,  he  begins.  Hark  to  the  re- 
cital of  the  massacres  of  the  Palatinate,  the  re- 
venge of  Jena !    Listen  to  the  plaintive  Nefftzer !  " 

[529] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  You  provoke  me,  Peyrat,  and  compel  me  to 
say  what  perhaps  I  should  not  say  here,  although 
my  audience  is  well  worth  running  the  risk  of 
mockery  from  you.  Yes,  the  revenge  of  Jena  has 
been  prepared  in  Prussia  for  the  last  forty-five 
years.  The  promoters  have  said  that  they  require 
half  a  century.  The  time  is  near.  Prussia  deceives 
you.  Bismarck — note  it  well — is  a  man  of  the 
stamp  of  Cavour,  with  brutal  and  useful  powers 
in  addition.  France  commits  error  upon  error. 
She  bungles  her  advantages.  The  adventure  upon 
which  Napoleon  III  has  sent  Maximilian  to  Mex- 
ico will  end  badly,  and  will  create  for  us  danger- 
ous enemies  in  Austria ;  whereas,  both  for  Austria 
and  for  ourselves,  we  must  at  all  costs  remain  on 
good  terms.  Juares  has  not  disarmed,  and  Spanish 
blood  will  not  suffer  invasions.  What  will  happen 
if  the  Mexicans  throw  our  imperial  proteges  into 
the  sea?  "  * 

*  The  people  of  Ragusa  predicted  from  this  time  either  vio- 
lent death  or  madness  for  Maximilian,  Charlotte  and  a  great 
number  of  the  Imperial  family  of  Austria,  because  they  had 
chosen  the  island  of  La  Cheoma  as  a  country  residence.  The 
Archduke  had  driven  the  monks  out,  turned  their  cemetery  into 
a  garden,  and  had  thrown  their  bones  into  a  common  grave,  or 
into  the  sea.  When  the  last  monk  left  the  island,  he  prophesied 
that  after  seventeen  cases  of  violent  death  or  madness  among 
those  who  inhabited  the  island,  the  monks  would  return. 


[530] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


"  Oh !  "  said  Peyrat ;  "  though  I  have  no  belief 
in  the  prophecies  of  monks,  it  makes  me  shudder. 
While  waiting  their  fatal  end,  Maximilian  and 
Charlotte  seem  to  be  enjo}nng  themselves  at 
Mexico." 

"  Will  you  take  a  bet,  Peyrat,  upon  the  con- 
ference of  London  to  settle  the  Danish-German 
quarrel  ?  "  said  Neff tzer,  gravely.  "  You  are  fol- 
lowing it,  are  you  not?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  even  interesting." 

"  It  will  come  to  nothing.  You  will  see  the 
peace  that  Prussia  will  patch  up.  I  read  the  Ber- 
lin papers,  and  I  know  what  is  wanted  on  the  Spree. 
They  want  to  mock,  dupe,  deceive,  promise,  but 
not  perform ;  lie  for  the  sake  of  lying." 

Monsieur  Drouyn  de  Luys  found  Bismarck, 
President  of  the  actual  Council  of  Prussia,  when 
he  represented  his  country  at  Paris,  "  a  man  to 
be  mocked."  Alas !  we  shall  see  the  man  at  work ; 
he  is  more  than  dangerous,  he  is  terrifying ! 

"  I  was  anxious  to  know  the  business  of  the 
German  Jewish  agents  in  Paris,"  said  Toussenel. 
"  I  can  well  see  that  they  tear  us  to  pieces  morally, 
making  light  of  what  we  respect  and  compassion- 
ating humanity  in  general,  to  make  nothing  of  our 
love  of  France.  Do  you  think  that  a  Valles  alone 
invented  such  sayings  as  the  one  which  I  shall  some 

[  531  ]. 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


day  make  him  swallow :  '  That  coloured  handker- 
chief called  a  flag ! '  Some  one  wishes  ill  to  our 
race,  our  character,  our  heroism.  I  feel  it,  I  see  it, 
I  see  signs  of  it  on  all  sides;  but  I  did  not  quite 
grasp  who  that  some  one  was.  You  say,  Nefftzer, 
that  it  is  Prussia.  Your  time  is  not  lost ;  you  have 
given  warning  to  a  patriot  who  is  not  cold-blooded. 
Thanks !  " 

Toussenel  pronounced  these  words  with  a  re- 
strained emotion  which  was  impressive. 

Little  by  little  Nefftzer's  ideas  on  external  policy 
made  headway  with  me.  Things  which  I  had  read 
became  proofs. 

My  dear  old  friend  Arles-Dufour,  "  the  father," 
had  for  Germany  an  admiration  which  was  as  a 
warning  to  me. 

"  Leipzig  is  as  good  as  Lyons  to  you,"  I  said 
one  day  to  him ;  "  and  you  find  as  many  friends  in 
Berlin  as  in  Paris." 

"  Yes,  Germany  is  more  intellectual,  more  se- 
rious, more  humanitarian,  than  France,"  answered 
Arles-Dufour ;  "  and  I  have  an  affection  for  her." 

"  Are  you  German  on  any  side  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  Provencal ;  but  I  place  science  and 
progress  before  all,  and  I  find  them  more  honoured, 
more  loved,  more  sought  after  in  Germany  than  in 
France." 

[532] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


I  commenced  also  to  discuss  "  Germanism  "  with 
one  of  my  young  friends,  introduced  by  Hetzel 
during  his  short  stay  at  the  Golfe,  and  to  whom 
I  had  quickly  become  attached,  so  fond  were  we  of 
arguing  upon  our  differences  of  opinion. 

Gaston  Paris,  the  son  of  Paulin  Paris,  was  par- 
ticularly attractive.  Eager  for  truth,  sincere,  a 
seeker,  curious,  learned,  he  had  lost  none  of  the 
qualities  of  youth,  poetry,  and  dreams.  But  what 
led  one  to  desire  him  as  a  friend  and  brother  was 
the  charm  of  a  surpassing  kindness. 

Later  I  knew  only  Madame  Sand,  whose  devoted 
friendship  was  as  absolute. 

After  the  death  of  Gaston  Paris  a  kind  hand 
sent  me  the  letters  I  had  written  to  him,  whom  I  al- 
ways called  brother,  as  I  have  called  Jean  Rey- 
naud  and  Arles-Dufour  "  father." 

The  gods  have  showered  upon  me  the  blessings 
of  friendship  in  every  shape — paternal  and  fra- 
ternal. My  life  has  been  blessed  in  affection,  and 
I  have  rarely  suffered  the  great  grief  of  the  loss 
of  friendship.  I  may  have  been  separated  from 
living  friends  by  opinions  and  ideas,  I  have  never 
ceased  to  love  them. 

Under  my  eyes  I  have  one  of  my  letters  to  Gas- 
ton Paris,  dated  July,  1864.  Sainte-Beuve  ad- 
vised him  to  undertake  a  complete  review  of  an 

[533] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


edition  of  Rabelais.  Gaston  Paris  hesitated.  I 
was  quite  of  the  opinion  of  Sainte-Beuve,  as  I  had 
written  to  him.     We  both  insisted. 

"  To  measure  one's  self  with  such  a  genius,  my 
dear  friend,"  I  told  him,  "  is  to  enlarge  one's  self. 
You  are  afraid  of  the  old  prudish  scholars ;  why  ? 
Accept,  accept.  Intimacy  with  Rabelais  will  harden 
you.  Re-read  Lucretius,  who  taught  me  so  much 
about  Rabelais." 

Gaston  Paris  was  one  of  the  young  men  of  my 
generation,  whom  for  a  long  time  I  followed  hour 
by  hour.  Life  separated,  but  never  disunited  us. 
I  loved  him  as  a  friend,  and  honoured  him  for  the 
honour  he  did  his  country,  as  no  scholar  ever  car- 
ried respect  for  his  own  methods  of  research  so  far. 

In  his  Histoire  poetique  de  Charlemagne  so 
greatly  did  he  identify  himself  with  his  hero  that 
he  came  to  resemble  him. 

Having  studied  in  the  German  Universities,  he 
spoke  of  Germans  with  admiration — among  others 
of  Frederic  Diez,  who  ha'd  been  his  master  in  the 
Romane  languages.  But  if  Gaston  Paris  had  a 
great  liking  for  Germany,  in  all  his  discoveries  he 
learned  the  love  of  France.  It  is  in  the  depths  of 
our  history  that  he  learned  that  love ;  he  awoke 
and  enlarged  our  past.  It  is  only  by  the  studies 
of  Gaston  Paris  that  chivalrous  France,  the  poetry 

[534] 


/ 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


of  the  Middle  Ages,  the  literature  of  old  France, 
have  been  completely  revealed  to  us  in  all  their 
truth  and  beauty.  The  nobility  of  his  life  and  his 
disinterested  labours  earned  him  the  universal 
esteem  of  the  world  of  letters ;  from  his  first  works 
all  honour  was  given  him  throughout  his  life. 

Arles-Dufour  was  in  Paris.  We  were  all  de- 
lighted to  welcome  the  "  good  genius  "  at  our  table. 
He  was  coming  from  the  International  Congress  of 
Geneva  for  succouring  the  wounded  in  times  of 
war.  With  his  illusions  he  believed  we  had  seen 
the  end  of  barbarism.  His  dear  friends,  the  Prus- 
sians, had  been  nothing  less  than  gentle  during 
the  war  of  the  Duchies.  He  groaned  when  speaking 
of  it,  and  said  that  the  Kingdom  of  Prussia,  which 
he  "  greatly  loves,"  had  suffered  enormously,  and 
that  was  why  she  took  so  great  an  interest  in  the 
formation  of  societies  to  succour  the  wounded. 

Arles-Dufour  was  in  great  grief.  The  doctors 
had  given  up  Enfantin.  When  his  master  and 
friend  died,  my  old  friend  suffered  as  I  suffered 
at  the  death  of  Jean  Reynaud.  He  had  all  my  sym- 
pathy, and  my  own  sorrow  was  awakened  at  sight 
of  his. 

I  saw  Madame  Jean  Reynaud,  who  told  me  that 
after  Enfantin's  death  she  would  collect  certain 
papers  left  by  Jean  Reynaud  and  carry  out  his 

[  535  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


wishes  respecting  them.  These  papers  she  would 
classify  and  seal  up  in  a  strong  box,  to  be  opened 
at  a  distant  date. 

I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  imagined  that 
these  papers  of  which  she  spoke  contained  more  than 
one  Saint-Simonian  story,  such  as  that  told  me  with 
great  emotion  by  Jean  Reynaud,  relating  to  Ma- 
dame Bazard.  Madame  Jean  Reynaud,  however, 
would  tell  me  nothing  about  them. 

Before  leaving,  Challemel  brought  me  his  fine 
essay  on  Guillaume  de  Humboldt,  which  was  much 
spoken  of,  and  which  it  was  agreed  showed  our 
friend's  full  value  at  last. 

He  seemed  to  have  gained  what  Prevost-Paradol 
appeared  to  have  lost  after  his  political  defeat.  The 
latter  could  not  recover  his  sarcastic  serenity.  He 
had  become  soured,  and  we  know  the  reason  too  well. 
Hetzel  said  that  his  "  sourness  is  no  longer  shared." 

We  were  at  Bruyeres,  and  even  my  mother  was 
more  serene,  taking  a  less  gloomy  view  of  life,  and 
let  herself  be  cheered  by  the  light. 

I  had  been  quarrelling  with  my  friend  Gaston 
Paris,  who  wanted  me  to  take  an  interest  in  a  Ger- 
man-French society. 

This  is  my  answer  to  him  of  December  2d : 

"  We  shall  see  many  Biichners  in  your  German- 

[536] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


French  society,  but  of  Buchner  and  Germany  a 
little  goes  a  long  way.  I  can  see  your  disgust  from 
here.  You  groan  over  my  obstinacy  and  ignorance. 
Speak  to  me  of  the  early  days  of  our  old  Gaul; 
write  your  thesis,  which  I  will  read  to  the  best  of 
my  ability,  but  let  the  Germans  be  German,  and 
you  remain  French.  The  spirit  of  other  countries 
invades  our  spirit  quite  sufficiently,  and  we  have 
no  further  need  to  scatter  ourselves.  I  am  centrip- 
etal French  and  you  are  centrifugal." 

Eight  days  later  I  wrote  again : 

"  You  try  to  bribe  me  by  describing  your  idea 
of  a  Franco-German  society  as  an  intimate  crea- 
tion into  which  you  have  put  your  last  hopes  of 
seeing  the  ideal  realized.  Let  us  make  a  bargain. 
We  will  agree  that  you  are  German  as  I  am  French. 
Renounce  your  title  of  Frenchman,  and  I  will  call 
you  neither  traitor  nor  renegade.  I  defend  my 
country  with  a  sharp  pen.  I  prevent  an  intellectual 
invasion  of  1814.  I  march  armed  to  my  frontier. 
Beware!  my  glass  will  hold  your  Rhine.  Your 
spirit  is  the  spirit  of  Germany.  Your  method  and 
philosophy  are  her  method  and  philosophy.  You 
prefer  the  poetry,  science,  simple  literature,  and 
love  of  tradition  that  she  prefers.  Our  revolution- 
ary genius  alarms  you.  Your  analytic  mind  is  no 
pioneer.     You  love  our  old  epopees  of  the  Middle 

[537] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


Ages  because  Germany  loves  them,  and  because 
they  have  some  affinity  with  the  Niebelungen.  Is 
that  the  German  spelling?  What  happiness  to 
know  only  one  language !  To  be  an  ignoramus 
one  is  saved  from  dreams  of  abnormal  alliances, 
and  of  fusions  of  contrary  elements.  One  does 
not  attempt  to  compel  the  people  on  one  side  to 
think  and  act  as  their  neighbours.  One  does  not 
cherish  a  system,  a  Utopia  with  assembly-rooms, 
prospectuses,  placards,  and  a  lantern  with  an  in- 
scription :  '  This  is  to  light  you  in  a  foreign  fash- 
ion, which  is  better  than  your  own.' 

"  Ah,  sir !  I  am  ready  to  drink  your  Rhine  from 
my  glass.     I  defy  you  to  drink  my  Seine." 

I  have  reproduced  these  letters  from  among 
those  Madame  Gaston  Paris  returned  to  me  after 
the  death  of  the  noblest  and  most  admirable  of 
husbands,  because  their  proper  place  is  at  the  end 
of  this  volume,  as  they  throw  a  light  upon  the  evo- 
lution of  my  mind,  and  the  patriotic  sufferings  I 
was  preparing  for  myself  in  the  events  towards 
which  France  was  advancing. 

Like  an  echo  to  my  intuitive  letters  to  Gaston 
Paris,  I  received  a  visit  from  Merimee,  who  gave 
me  a  letter  from  Bixio  to  read,  adding : 

"  It  is  in  the  same  vein  as  that  of  Nefftzer." 

"  Prussia  alarms  me,"  writes  Bixio  to  Merimee. 

[  538  ] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


"  She  is  making  formidable  preparations.  She  be- 
gan by  Denmark,  and  will  continue  with  Austria 
and  ourselves.  Cavour  himself  told  me  the  pro- 
posals made  to  him  by  Prussia,  in  event  of  a  com- 
mon action  against  Austria." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  are  you  not  convinced  by  all 
these  assertions  of  men  of  weight  on  the  plans  of 
Prussia?  Do  you  still  believe  the  King  of  Prussia 
and  Bismarck  are  friends  of  France?  ' 

"  I  believe  it  because  I  know  it,"  answered 
Merimee. 

"  Showing  me  the  Redoutable,  the  Second 
Squadron  of  the  Mediterranean,  in  the  waters  of 
Golfe  Juan,"  he  added,  laughingly.  "  Until  Prus- 
sia has  a  navy  our  vessels  will  have  plenty  of  sea 
room.  Besides,  is  not  France  still  and  always  '  La 
Grande  France  ? '  Why  should  she  fear  little 
Prussia?  Is  our  patriotism  less?  Has  the  Imperial 
rule  destroyed  the  military  spirit  ?  " 

"  Yes,  when  it  will  not  use  the  arms  it  carries 
to  defend  our  most  noble  sentiments  of  heroism. 
Yes,  Imperial  rule  destroys  the  military  spirit  when 
it  ffives  over  our  admiration  of  the  classics,  which 
inspired  us  with  beauty  in  art,  to  vile  mockery; 
it  betrays  the  spirit  of  France,  delivers  it  up  to 
scorn,  and  strikes  at  the  very  source  of  our  patriot- 
ism. La  Belle  Helene  after  Orphee-aux-Enfers. 
35  [  539  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


This  is  the  spirit  of  irreverence  which  will  .attack, 
permeate,  and  vilify  everything." 

'  It  is  French  merriment,"  replied  Merimee ; 
"  and  they  say  that  La  Belle  Helene  is  funnier  than 
Orphee-aux-Enfers.  Do  you  really  care  so  much 
that  honour  should  be  given  to  the  gods  of 
Greece?  " 

'  Because  I  worship  them,  and  because  I  believe 
that  to  attack  one  religion  is  to  attack  all.  Your 
religion  is  patriotism — the  army.  It  will  be  made 
as  ridiculous  and  grotesque  as  our  legendary  gods." 

"  When  a  nation  laughs  it  does  not  think  of 
revolutions." 

"  Unless  its  laugh  is  one." 

In  autumn,  when  I  was  bidding  farewell  to  Ma- 
dame d'Agoult  before  leaving  for  Bruyeres,  she 
said: 

"  My  dream  for  you,  little  Juliette,  is  that  j-ou 
should  have  a  salon — quite  small,  very  select,  with 
the  traditions  of  mine.  We  will  found  one  on  your 
return.  I  will  send  you  some  instructions  on  the 
subject  this  winter,  upon  which  you  will  meditate." 

I  received  from  Madame  d'Agoult  the  following 
beautiful  page: 

"  Happiness  comes  only  from  abnegation  and 
wisdom.     To  gather  round  one  a  group  of  men 

[  540  ] 


I    FOUND    MY    SALON 


and  some  intelligent  women,  one  must  present  a 
serene  or  happy  appearance. 

"  One  must  simplify  one's  life,  letting  no  com- 
plications appear  to  the  eye,  even  though  life  be 
troubled. 

"  To  keep  friends  round  one  it  is  necessary  to 
create  an  impersonal  and  peaceful  atmosphere, 
which  gives  repose. 

"  Consult  the  first  members  of  a  salon  before 
admitting  others,  that  there  may  be  founders,  or 
some  who  believe  themselves  so. 

"  Avoid  the  exchange  of  confidences,  which 
creates  too  great  an  intimacy  and  compels  advice 
which  at  some  time  you  will  be  reproached  with. 

"  Be  modest  without  effacing  yourself ;  combine 
simplicity  and  elegance.  Inspire  confidence  in  the 
strength  of  your  opinions,  that  you  may  appear 
at  once  immovable  and  tolerant. 

"  The  first  duty  of  her  who  would  hold  a  salon 
is  to  keep  up  the  interest  of  those  whom  she  has 
gathered  round  her. 

"  To  impress  upon  them  that  she  is  more  taken 
up  with  them  than  with  herself." 

I  thanked  my  dear  great  friend  for  her  high 
wisdom,  and  promised  to  assimilate  it,  precept  by 
precept. 

She  added: 

[541  ] 


MY  LITERARY  LIFE 


"  You  need  twenty  men  friends  and  five  women 
to  found  a  salon.  You  have  them.  Mine  will  re- 
main the  big  winter  salon,  yours  will  be  the  little 
summer  salon,  and  thus  our  intimate  set  will  never 
be  quite  dispersed." 

Alas !  this  little  salon  was  destined,  very  soon 
after  its  formation,  to  deprive  me  of  a  maternal 
friendship,  the  loss  of  which  caused  me  as  much 
grief  as  the  death  of  Jean  Reynaud. 

George  Sand's  great  affection  did  not  console 
me,  because,  estranged  from  Madame  d'Agoult,  I 
could  no  longer  cherish  the  hope  of  reconciling  the 
two  greatest  feminine  personalities  of  my  day  and 
love  them  both  at  once. 


(i) 


THE    END 


[542] 


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